


Sinful

by epicfrenchfry, Megalomaniacal



Category: Heavy Rain
Genre: Anal Sex, Case Fic, Drug Withdrawal, Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Norman Jayden is a size queen, Oral Sex, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, degradation kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 65,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22791961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicfrenchfry/pseuds/epicfrenchfry, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megalomaniacal/pseuds/Megalomaniacal
Summary: Blake had always been an ass guy for sure, but usually there was a pussy involved. So, the fact that Norman Jayden had maybe the nicest ass he had ever experienced was a matter of great conflict to him.
Relationships: Carter Blake/Norman Jayden
Comments: 79
Kudos: 141
Collections: Heavy Rain





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We’ve been working on this for a while, and decided to begin posting this story today in celebration of Heavy Rain’s tenth birthday.

Norman’s brows furrowed, flipping through the ARI’s file cabinet. He found the two for the Origami Killer, pulling them up before closing the cabinet.

“Nothin’ new...” He murmured to himself, eyes narrowed beneath his glasses. He’d have to run over the clues again. Surely there was something he could add to the files, to enhance his profile on the killer. The killer who was definitely not Ethan Mars, the father who he’d let out of police station just a few hours before. He’d kept to himself during the chaos surrounding the discovery of the empty interrogation room, ignoring Blake’s yelling in the main room outside his office.

He sighed, looking through the file once again, gloved hand motioning in the air to flip pages. He was so absorbed in it that he didn’t hear the door to his office open, and then shut.

Blake swept a critical gaze around the dusty office. How the fuck had Jayden, with that massive stick up his ass, not cleaned his office up? He was just sitting at his desk, wearing those dumbass sunglasses and... talking to himself. Jayden was tracing his hands through the air, finger out as though following along words, and swiping the other hand this way and that.

"Jayden, what the fuck?" He leaned over him, his hands on the edge of the desk. Sure enough, there was nothing there, just Jayden's pale ass hands waving in the air like some freakshow.

Norman startled, silently cursing himself for not noticing Blake come in. He closed the files, taking off the glasses and tucking them into his jacket pocket. He crossed his arms over his chest, turning his head to look at Blake. “What the fuck to you? The hell you doing in my office, Blake?”

"I know you let that shitbag Mars go, Jayden," Blake said, kicking the door shut. He grabbed Jayden by the collar of his shirt, hefting him up out of his chair. "What you're gonna tell me is why."

Norman grabbed at Blake’s hands, frustrated at how his feet didn’t touch the floor. He yanked at the hands, trying to get them off him. “I didn’t do shit. You have no damn proof!”

"The hell you didn't!" Blake threw Jayden bodily to the floor, kicking him in the stomach and lurching him sideways. "Come out with it, Jayden! I ain't fucking around, that's our killer you set free!"

“He’s no killer!” Jayden groaned as he stood, holding his stomach where he’d been kicked. “And you got no damn proof! You ain’t got shit on Mars, and you ain’t got shit on me!” He stepped back, not wanting to physically retaliate just yet.

"Get back down," Blake snapped, shoving him back down to the ground. Jayden fell on his ass with a wince, and Blake bent over him, grabbing his collar again. "Fucking feds, man. Waltzing in here, acting like you own the damn place. You ain't shit."

“What’s your fuckin’ problem?” Norman shoved back at him, the angle not doing anything good for his neck. Blake was fucking _strong_. It wasn’t that Norman wasn’t strong himself, but Carter was more muscle while Norman was more... toned. “Get the fuck off of me!”

Blake forced him back against the floor, pinning him down. Jayden's legs kicked helplessly against him as he planted a knee on his stomach. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck your problem is, Jayden," he hissed, breath fanning hot over Jayden's face.

Norman felt heat pool in his stomach and swallowed thickly, not liking where this was going at all, how his body was reacting to being pinned down and snapped at. “You have no fucking right, Blake!” He insisted, raising his voice. “Now get the hell off me!”

"You're leaving me no choice, Jayden," Blake snapped. He rolled Norman over, pressing him down against the filthy floor, wrestling his hands behind his back. "You're under arrest, Jayden."

“I am not!” Norman snarled, struggling beneath him, his coat lifted and ass on display as he writhed on the floor. His face flushed, heart racing as he tried to get his hands away. “You’ve no proof, Blake! I didn’t do shit! You’re the one abusing suspects!”

"Am I abusing you, Jayden? Fucking ridiculous!" he spat, coming up with his trusty handcuffs. He snapped them in place, tightening them a little more than necessary. "It's— it's eggs and omelettes, Jayden, you gotta do what you gotta go. Come on, get up!" He yanked him by the wrists, hauling him up with minimal effort. Christ, what did Jayden weigh, seven pounds?

“Fuck you!” Norman pulled away from him, managing to actually break free of his grip. He stumbled over his own feet, falling backwards onto the desk with a groan. He was getting fucking hard from this. His face burned as he looked down and saw his own crotch, pants slightly straining over his bulge.

"Bitch!" Blake roared. He rushed to catch him, subsequently staggering as Jayden's flailing leg nailed him in the hip. He fell against the desk, sputtering curses, and grabbed Jayden by the thigh, yanking him closer. "Where the fuck do you think you're going, asshole?"

“You can’t fucking manhandle me around!” Norman cursed, face reddening as Blake grabbed his fucking thigh. Too close to his dick. And now Blake was between his fucking legs, and he should’ve been fighting back but his dick was taking the blood from his brain.

Blake cursed again, cursing Jayden and this whole damned situation, and he fumbled around Jayden to grab his hands out from behind him. In doing so, Jayden was forcefully scooted forward on the desktop, and his crotch fell flush against Blake's own. His very stiff crotch. Blake himself stiffened and he looked down, then at Jayden. "You're hard."

Norman’s face flushed a dark, dark red. “No I’m not.” He argued, though the fact that his dick was literally straining against the fabric of his pants contradicted his statement.

"Yeah?" Without so much as a thought, Blake reached down and grabbed him through his pants. He squeezed. "Sure fucking feels hard to me."

Norman’s mouth fell open as he forced himself not to let out any obscene sounds. “You- you can’t-“ He stammered, squirming before weakly protesting, “Don’t _touch_ me.”

He couldn't help but let out a wry chuckle. "Should've known," he muttered. He backed up a step, flipping Jayden over and shoving his face against the desk surface. He leaned in, lips against the shell of Jayden's ear. "Should've known you were nothing more than a fucking fag."

Norman shivered, squirming a little and then stopping when it rubbed his bulge against the desk. “Shut the fuck up, Blake.” He demanded, his breathing getting harsher as his heart raced. The degrading way Blake talked to him was enough to make more heat pool in the pit of his stomach, to make his cock twitch, and the lips and hot air against his ear made him tremble.

It was almost enough to make Blake ignore the heat of his own erection. He ground against Norman, smirking at how he flinched and quivered underneath him. "Just a stinkin' fag, wanting his pretty little ass fucked, hm?"

“Blake-“ Norman gasped, eyes squeezing shut. Blake was grinding against him, his bulge rubbing against Norman’s ass, and he felt _big_. He hadn’t been fucked in so long, never had time outside of work, and just the thought of it made him want to squirm. “Calling me- real fuckin’ funny calling me a fag and then calling my ass pretty.” He gasped.

"Funny?" Blake grabbed his ass, feeling the softness of it beneath those shapeless pants. Without warning, he reared his hand and delivered a sharp blow to Norman's ass. "That's your problem, isn't it? You're just a worthless slut."

Norman yelped, his body jerking, precome dribbling from his cock and soaking into his underwear. Blake just... he just fucking slapped his ass. Hard. “I’m not- _Blake_. This isn’t appropriate.” He tried to sound firm, but his voice wavered.

"Oh? It's not appropriate?" Blake mocked, voice nasally with a mocking accent. "Neither is letting our prime suspect go, you cunt!" He delivered another blow, the smack muffled by the fabric. He would have to fix that.

Norman cried out again, his cock fucking throbbing against the desk. His head was spinning. It felt good, being bent over and spanking, being mocked and talked down to- not that he’d admit it. “You- You’ve got no proof.” He argued weakly.

"I know it was you. Just like how I know you want this. You fucking whore, you deserve it." Blake fumbled for the buckle of Norman's pants, tugging them down unceremoniously. He was right; Norman's ass was plush and round, a clean white canvas to do with what he pleased.

Norman whimpered at the cool air against his now bare ass as his pants fell with his underwear down to his ankles. The metal desk didn’t feel great against his dick, but it didn’t do anything to soften his erection. “You’re- these are baseless accusations.”

"Yeah?" Blake grabbed a handful of him, squeezing and smacking the soft flesh. "Did you get hard for him, too? Let Mars fuck you on the table before you let him out? If I spread you open, you'll be all wet and messy already, won't you?"

Norman’s breath hitched, his eyes rolling back. “N-no.” He stammered, hands curling into fists where they were cuffed behind his back. “I didn’t. This isn’t decent!” He wanted to be that, to be all fucking wet and messy, dripping with cum.

"Nothing about you is decent, Jayden." Blake didn't really know what was getting into him, but he couldn't stop himself. Didn't want to. He dropped to his knees and nudged Jayden's legs wider apart, pulling his pants down to his ankles. "You'd take anything I wanted to do to you, wouldn't you?"

Norman groaned. He would. He’d take literally anything Blake did to him right now, cock throbbing and leaking against the desk. He didn’t answer, not wanting to lie but not wanting to admit the other man was right.

Blake snickered, shaking his head. He was right, of course, he always was. He grabbed Jayden's cheeks and spread them, exposing his pink hole. He smirked at the sight, leaning in close. "So fucking gross, Jayden," he said, and he spat on his twitching hole.

Norman shuddered, pressing his face against the desk as he let out an embarrassing moan. He wanted Blake to touch him, to fucking fuck him senseless. “Shut- Shut the fuck up.” He stuck his ass out a little more, practically putting it onto display.

He squeezed his ass once more, and licked a wet stripe up his ass, teasing the tip of his tongue against the rim of him. Now, Blake wasn't gay. He'd never eaten a guy's ass before, but it couldn't be too much different than a girl's, and he was a hit with ladies. If the sounds Jayden was making were any hint, he was pretty damned good with men too.

Norman wished his hands were free so he could rest his head in his arms and muffle the embarrassing noises he was making, but as it was, he was moaning and whimpering at each movement of Blake’s tongue. “Blake-“ He gasped, closing his eyes.

"Should have known you'd be noisy as hell," Blake remarked. He delivered another firm spank to Norman's ass, delving his tongue past the ring of muscle.

He cried out when Blake’s tongue slid partly inside him. “Fuck-“ He whimpered, “Fuck...” It felt good. He’d never been eaten out before, and now, being eaten out on top of the shitty desk in his dirty office... it felt amazing, made him wish he could touch himself.

Blake spread his cheeks further apart so he could reach deeper. He nipped none-too-gently at the soft skin of his rim, licking a broad swipe over the sensitive flesh before joining a finger with his tongue inside him.

Norman yelped at the intrusion. Blake’s fingers were thicker than his own, and just the one was enough for him to feel a bit of discomfort. Was Blake planning on fucking him? He felt his legs tremble at the thought of being bent over the desk and taken roughly.

Blake pulled away, spitting again on him and joining another finger with the first. "You like this, Jayden? Miserable little slut, you just want anything filling you up."

“Y-Yeah,” Norman gasped, too turned on to deny it. He let out an embarrassing moan at the addition of the second finger, squirming and clenching around them.

Blake's cock twitched in his pants. Jayden's utter desperation was turning him on more than he thought possible, and he wanted nothing more than to sink himself into Jayden's sweet little ass. He pulled his fingers free, pressing them against Jayden's lips instead.

"Want more? Better suck, little slut."

Norman took them into his mouth immediately, wrapping his lips around them and sucking, tongue swirling around them and coating them with saliva. He was empty, and the sudden lack of anything in his ass made him want to cry and beg. He wiggled his ass a little, whining around the fingers in his mouth.

Jayden's tongue licked and sucked at his fingers and Blake suppressed a groan. His cock throbbed in his jeans; he ground against Jayden, making him feel what he was doing to him, pressing his fingers deeper into his mouth.

Norman moaned around them, the sound muffled. He wanted that cock inside him, as soon as possible. He closed his eyes, getting more into sucking on his fingers, practically bobbing his head to suck on them as if they were Blake’s cock.

"Fucking whore, Christ," Blake hissed. He pulled his fingers free and slipped one back inside of him, teasing the tip of another around his rim before sliding that in as well.

“Please..” Norman panted, pushing his ass back against the fingers. “Please, Blake..” It felt good, being slowly worked open, but he wanted more. He wanted Blake to fuck him like he fucking hated him.

"What do you want, little slut?" Blake teased a third finger, probing inside before pulling it free again, working his other two deeper in. "You're not getting shit until you tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."

Norman’s face turned dark red. “You know what.” He insisted. He wasn’t about to beg to get his ass fucked in his office, that was beyond humiliating. Yet the thought of it made his cock twitch and leak onto the desk.

He stilled his movements, looking challengingly down at him. "You know, Jayden, you're such a fucking goody-two-shoes. I've been wanting to put you in your place for a while now." He spanked him again, hard so the flesh of his ass jiggled with the force. "I could leave you here, cuffed and spread open on this filthy ass desk for anybody to find."

Norman yelped, resting his forehead on the desk and closing his eyes. “Please. Please don’t.” He gasped quietly. He’d be in such trouble if Blake did that, if he left him like that. And not only would he be in trouble, but the whole damn station would think he was a whore.

"What do you want me to do to you, Jayden?" Blake hissed. He brushed his fingers tantalizingly along inside him, teasing the third at his rim again.

“Please.” Norman begged, spreading his legs a little wider. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t ask Blake to fuck him- it was too much, too humiliating. But he wanted it, he wanted it so fucking bad.

Blake ground against him again. "Fuck, I'm horny. Might have to jack off..." He pulled his fingers free with a lewd, wet sound and unbuckled his belt. His cock was straining against his jeans; he unzipped and pulled himself free, stroking languidly up the length of it.

“Wait!” He protested, turning his head to look back at Blake. His eyes widened at the sight of his cock, thick and big and hard, and he quickly looked away. He felt so empty. “I- Please fuck me.” He said quietly, embarrassed.

"Mm, what was that?" Blake stroked himself again, cocking an eyebrow. His cock leaked precum, beading at the tip. "You're so quiet, Jayden, I can't hear you."

Norman’s face burned red. “I said, please fuck me.” He said a little louder, voice shaking with embarrassment. He wanted that cock in him, and the idea of Blake just jerking off onto him was arousing and horrifying at the same time.

"You want me to fuck you? Want my cock in your ass?" He pushed his fingers in again, three at once this time. "You're so tight, Jayden, I might break you open."

Norman cried out, dropping his head down against the desk. “Please. Please, Blake. Fuckin’- fucking break me then.” He wanted it, so bad. The fingers in him already stretched and burned, but he wanted more.

Blake pulled his fingers free again, fast and careless, and he grabbed his dick. He stroked himself, lining up with Jayden's twitching hole, and began to push in.

Norman bit down on his lip, stifling a high-pitched whine. It had looked big big, but it felt even bigger when it was pushing into him. “More lube, please.” He begged. The spit that had rubbed off from his fingers wasn’t enough.

"Wanted me to break you, didn't you?" However, he did treat Jayden to another gratuitous spit, easing a little more into him.

Norman whimpered, screwing his eyes shut. “‘S big.” He mumbled, squirming a little. He was clenching around him, panting softly. He hadn’t been fucked in so long, and Blake’s dick was definitely bigger than his fingers.

"So fucking tight, fuck," Blake hissed. He gripped his hips, easing in another inch. Being patient was some kind of bullshit, but he didn't need Jayden's ass actually splitting open, that would be too much to deal with.

“Uncuff me, please.” Norman begged. He needed to hold onto something, the edge of the table maybe, or to stroke his own cock. His arms also were beginning to ache pulled behind his back as they were.

"Slutty brats don't get to make requests," Blake said. "Especially not slutty brats who set suspects free!" He spanked him again, harder than before, and thrust into him.

Norman cried out, body jolting forward with the force. “Blake- fuck!” He cursed, his ass stinging from the amount of times he’d slapped it. He felt so full. “Is it- is it in all the way?” He asked quietly after a moment.

"Yeah. Your ass is just sucking me right in, fucking fag. This is all you're good for, hm? Just a hole to fuck." He spanked him again, a little gentler, and rolled his hips.

Norman had to bite his lip to keep from moaning loud enough for the whole damn station to hear. It was stretching him, and the stretch burned, but he felt so fucking full and good at the same time.

"Just a little slut, begging for cock. Do your fed friends pass you around, too? Maybe I should open up the door and let everybody see you taking my cock like this." Blake thrust hard, bouncing Norman on his cock. His round little ass was just begging for another hit, already flushed red on one side from continued strikes. He hit the other, a fresh canvas, and groaned at the sight of the handprint left behind.

Norman fucking mewled, eyes rolling back at the hard thrust and then the slap. “N-no- Don’t-“ He gasped. The idea of being seen like this was hot, really fucking hot, but it was also terrifying. He’d surely lose his job for that.

Blake grabbed him by the handcuffs, yanking him up so his back was against his chest. He thrust upwards, latching his lips to Jayden's throat and sucking a dark bruise. "Slut wants everyone to know he's a slut, right?"

“N- ah!” Norman gasped, crying out with a loud moan as Blake’s cock hit his prostate. He saw sparks, white spots in his vision, and then he was coming. His body tensed, ass clenching around Blake’s cock, his own cock twitching and spurting out cum onto the desk. It had been so long since he’d been fucked, so long since he’d been filled, since his prostate had been hit like this.

Blake's movements faltered. He laughed. "Jayden, did you just—" Reaching a hand around, he swiped his fingers through the mess of Jayden's cum and pushed his fingers to those pouty lips. "Clean up, Jayden, don't want any evidence laying around, right?"

Norman panted, body trembling as he came down from his orgasm, Blake’s cock still moving inside him. He let out a pathetic whimper before taking the fingers in his mouth, grimacing at the bitter, salty taste of his own cum. Humiliating. His face continued to burn red.

"Disgusting," Blake sneered. He bucked his hips, bouncing Jayden against him and eliciting another delicious whine before throwing him back onto the table, legs spread wide. He thrust deeper, looking for that angle that had Jayden coming untouched.

Norman howled when Blake not his prostate again, sensitive and aching from his recent orgasm. “Blake, please, please-“ He panted, wrists yanking at the cuffs. “Sensitive, it’s- I’m fuckin’ sensitive.”

"Fucking noisy, that's what you are! It's like you want everyone to hear. Want everyone to know I'm fucking you open like this." Jayden's ass clenching around him was almost too much, too good; he spanked him, hard, and grabbed a fistful of his hair.

“It’s too much!” Norman gasped, thought the oversensitivity, that edge of almost- pain, felt kind of good.

"Cum again, then," Blake said snidely. He picked up the pace, fucking him so Jayden was bouncing on the table with the force of each one, a loud, lewd sound filling the room.

“I’m- I’m sensitive-“ Norman whined, gasping and moaning like a whore. He was so big, so fucking big, and he fucked _hard_.

"Do you want to get caught, Jayden?" Blake planted his hand between Jayden's shoulder blades and thrust hard, as though punishing him for being so damned noisy. "Do I gotta gag you?"

Norman cried out at the next few thrusts. “Can’t- can’t help it, I _can’t_ Blake, it's so much..." It was an endless ramming against his sensitive prostate. He almost wished they were on a bed, but the edge of the desk biting into his thighs, the surface sticky and dusty and gross. His own cum was smearing on his belly and cock, and it was so gross but so fucking hot. He always had to be so polite, so smart and in charge, and being treated like nothing more than a hole to fuck made his head fucking spin.

Blake snickered, slipping Jayden's tie from around his neck and stuffing the silky fabric into Jayden's mouth. "Gotta keep you quiet, you noisy little whore. Don't want everyone coming in for a taste, do you? You don't know these men, they'd pass you around for hours for a share of your tight little cunt."

Norman shuddered, clenching around him and moaning pitifully at the thought. The idea of being fucked so much and for so long was enough to have him drooling if not for the tie in his mouth, muffling his moans.

"You'd like that though, wouldn't you? Fucked open, all raw and dripping. Fucking cum dumpster, that's all you're good for. I oughta thank those feds for sending you," Blake hissed, his steady pace stuttering as Jayden clenched around him.

He was already close again, cock hard and twitching. He didn’t even fucking know he could cum again, or even get hard again this quickly. He wanted to say something, to curse or moan or cry out, but he couldn’t. He pushed his ass back as best he could, hips twitching and jerking with each thrust.

"Gonna cum again?" Blake jeered. "Just a needy little slut, desperate for a cock in his cunt." It was really fucking hot seeing Jayden all taken apart, undone at Blake's own hands, and the power trip it gave him was intoxicating.

Norman moaned, the sound muffled by the tie in his mouth. Was Blake not close yet? How much longer would he have his cock plowing into him, fucking into his oversensitive prostate? How many more times would Norman cum before Blake? He whimpered quietly, wrists once again jerking at their restraints. His cock ached, and he wanted to touch it so bad.

"So fucking needy, look at you," Blake muttered. He put his hands on either side of Jayden's hips and leaned into him, angling at his sweet spot. "I'd have you screaming my name like the bitch in heat you are, but— _Fuck_ , Jayden, don't clench like that..."

As if he could help it. He couldn’t, the way his walls were clenching and trembling around Blake’s cock as he got fucked. He would be screaming, screaming and moaning and fucking writhing and begging like a whore. But they were in the office. As it was, he was loud even trying to keep himself quiet.

"Cum for me, Jayden, show me how good this feels, how much you like my cock in you..." The words were spilling forth, answered by Jayden's wanton little mewls, and he was getting himself off as much as he was Jayden. Blake wanted Jayden to cum one more time, though, and go the whole day in soiled clothes, knowing that Blake was the one who brought him to it.

Norman squirmed, whimpering into the damp material of his tie. He was close, trembling as his cock leaked and throbbed against the desk, as Blake slammed into his prostate over and over.

"Fuck—" he cursed again, grinding against him so his cock rubbed slow and deep. "Feel so fucking good, what the fuck..."

Norman cried out, actual tears beading in his eyes as he came from Blake’s cock just grinding against his prostate. He felt like he was gonna black out, practically screaming into the tie, body shuddering and jerking against the desk.

Jayden's ass was spasming, clenching around Blake's cock and he let out a choked-off groan, managing a few more thrusts before he was spilling deep inside him, panting, his own muscles quivering in protest.

Norman shuddered again at the feeling of Blake coming inside him, hot and thick and feeling like it was fucking filling him up. His eyes rolled back in his head, muffled moans pitched high and needy.

He pulled out, letting Jayden slump uselessly, and tucked himself back into his jeans. "You're a damned good fuck, Jayden, I'll give you that. About the only thing you're good for." Since it was there, and looking so invitingly plump, he gave another firm spank to Jayden's backside on his way out the office door. After a brief pause, he tossed the handcuff key to the desk beside Jayden before shutting the door behind him.

Norman laid there for a bit, probably five minutes or so, taking shaky breaths as he regained his composure. He’d just been fucked through two orgasms, plowed like a whore then left dripping with another man’s cum and laying in his own. He reached for the keys with his cuffed hands, barely managing to properly twist his wrists and hands to be able to unlock them, throwing the cuffs off himself and onto the floor. He stood up, stumbling back as he tried to regain his balance on shaking legs. His shirt was wet. His fucking shirt had gotten cum on it. That was going to stain. He pulled up his chair, falling back onto him and hissing in pain at the pressure on his stinging ass where Blake had slapped him. He threw his tie onto the floor, soaked with saliva, and rubbed a hand over his mouth to wipe the rest off.

Blake was settling back at his desk, smirking. Detective Grisham leaned over, brow raised. "Sounded like you showed him what's what," Grisham remarked. Blake chuckled.

"Yeah, man. It wasn't too hard, the guy's a pussy."

Norman took a few minutes to himself before resolving to go to the bathroom and clean himself up. He had an ass full of cum, after all, and it probably wasn’t going to be very comfortable to leave that up there all day. He buckled his pants and got up, stumbling again, before heading out of his office and trying to discreetly head to the men’s restroom.

Heads turned all along Norman's path to the bathroom, all eager to see. Everybody had heard the banging and shouting of the fight, and they all wanted to see the damage Blake had inflicted on their federal infiltrater. He was limping, his hair and clothes a rumpled mess, and he kept his head down as he hurried past. Blake's smirk broadened, gaze lingering heavy on his limping gait and the barely-there bruise on his neck.

Norman could feel the eyes on him, his face burning red as he rushed to the bathroom and then into a stall, locking the door behind him. He braced his hands against the wall, panting softly as he leaned over. It was humiliating. How much had everyone heard? Had Blake told anyone yet? And everyone looking at him... it couldn’t mean anything good.

Nobody was surprised in the slightest when Blake rose from his seat again and followed Norman into the bathroom. He was notorious for seeking out 'round two' after beating somebody up, and why should the fed be any different? When Blake strolled into the bathroom, he cast a quick glance around. There was only one stall door closed, so he headed over and kicked it. The lock held, but he heard Jayden give a sharp inhale and he snickered.

"Feeling good, Jayden?"

“Fuck off, Blake.” Norman snapped back, though his voice wavered slightly. He couldn’t exactly drop his pants and scoop the cum out of his asshole with Carter fucking Blake standing right outside the stall. “The fuck do you want?”

"Everybody out there is dying to know if I taught you a lesson." Blake inspected his fingernails, leaning back against the stall door. He kicked one foot up against it carelessly. "What kind of lesson do you suggest I tell them?"

“You don’t tell them shit.” Norman said, gritting his teeth. “You keep your mouth shut, Blake.” He shifted uncomfortably where he stood.

"Oh, like you did your legs?" Blake glanced back over his shoulder with a crooked grin, as though he could pierce right through the thick plastic door with a gaze.

Norman stepped back again, arms crossed over his chest. “You fuckin’- you threw me over that desk, Blake! I didn’t spread ‘em, you did.”

"And you'd beg me to do it again." It was a firm statement, offering no challenges to the words. "How's it feel to be dripping another man's jizz? I wouldn't know, I'm not a fag like you."

He took in a sharp breath, closing his eyes and moving a hand to rub it over his face. How’d it feel? Good and gross and humiliating all at the same time. The way Blake spoke to him was making anger and lust twit together in his gut. “Shut the fuck up, Blake.”

"Or what? You'll beg me to come in and fuck you right there on the toilet? Or do you want to be bent over the sink this time. Easier cleanup that way, I guess." He took a step away from the stall, pacing a short loop, hands in his pockets.

“I’m tryin’ to get your fuckin’ cum outta my ass!” Norman snapped, growing more and more annoyed and embarrassed. It was bad enough he’d let the man fuck him like some sort of back alley whore. He shouldn’t have, but it felt good, and damn had he needed a good fuck.

"Why bother? If you ask me, you should plug it up. For like, a reminder?" He pushed on the stall door, testing it. "So you can think about what a filthy slut you are. Bent over your own desk."

Norman shivered, his cock twitching weakly in his pants. “I- I’m not keeping it in me! That’s disgusting, Blake!” His face felt hot.

"Hey Jayden, you're the one who got off twice." Blake shrugged, not that Jayden could see him. "You're the one who got hard to being beaten."

“Fuck off.” Norman snapped, “Can I not have any damn privacy?” As if Blake hadn’t seen him bent over and spread open.

As though hearing this thought, Blake said "Jayden. I've had my cock in your ass, there's not much more I don't know." He jostled the door again.

Norman grit his teeth. He was getting real sick of this shit, and he knew Blake was leaning against the door. He stood to the side and unlatched it, letting it fall open quickly under Blake’s weight.

Blake stumbled and fell back, landing half on top of the toilet. "Fucker!" He swung a punch at Jayden, but his awkward position just had the fist fly by uselessly.

Norman stepped back, eyeing him cautiously. “I’m the fucker? Really, Blake?”

"Nah, I don't think you've ever fucked anyone before in your life. With an ass like that, you're just a hole. Aren't ya, faggot?" Blake sneered.

“Stop fuckin’ calling me that.” Norman snapped. “You’re the one who fucked a man. That sounds pretty gay to me.”

"I got off to fucking a tight hole. You got off to a man's dick in your ass, that's gay," Blake retorted. It wasn't really gay if he was doing the fucking.

“I’m gay.” Norman finally snapped after a few moments of looking conflicted. “So fuckin’ what? At least I’m not in denial.”

"Denial about what? I said you had a nice ass, I liked fucking it, I'm not gay." Blake stepped towards him, backing him against the stall wall. He grabbed the front of his shirt. "You still look like shit, Jayden. Unless you really do want everyone to know, I suggest you clean up."

“Maybe I should let everyone know.” He snarled. “Let them all know their lieutenant had sex with a man.”

"You won't," Blake said, shoving him back. He stepped out of the stall and stormed from the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Norman stared after him as he left, cursing and slamming the stall door back shut, locking it. Fucking bastard. He sighed, and dropped his pants.


	2. Chapter 2

Everywhere Norman went, harsh looks and muttered words followed him. It was as if the entire station had developed some vendetta against him, and now nobody wanted to work with or near him, and the snide attitudes of the detectives was getting almost out of hand. Naturally, Captain Perry did nothing, thought at least he didn't actively participate in the ostracization.

Norman was confused. And uncomfortable. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and suddenly the whole station loathed him instead of just finding him annoying. He tried to hear some of the things people were muttering to each other, but it didn’t work. He went to his office and sat down with a wince. Even alone, he couldn’t have some damn peace.

Blake, of course, had wasted no time in telling the entire station that Jayden was gay. He was too much of a goody-goody to actually tell people what they did, and it would only make things worse for himself in the long run. All Blake had had to do was tell Charlene, and she took care of the rest. The rumor spread so fast and so widely Blake wasn't even pinned as the source, and everybody had accepted it as base fact. 

In Blake's eyes, it was what Jayden deserved. Any man who let another man take him up the ass and basically cried with pleasure deserved to be outed and treated like the scum they were. He couldn't feel even a flicker of sympathy for the man, watching him endure the harassment with a grimace on his face, and hadn't deigned to speak to him since the incident.

Norman tried to ignore it. He had a case to solve, he wasn’t here to make friends, but it was really bothering him, putting him on edge. Blake must’ve said something. He _must’ve._ But Norman had to work on the case, not worry about what the guys in the station thought. 

He pulled up his files on the ARI, flipping through the clues until he found a suspect- or at least a connection to a suspect. ‘Mad Jack.’ He found the location before standing up, tucking his glasses and glove away into his jacket and leaving his office. 

It wasn’t a long drive to the impound where Mad Jack apparently worked. He made good time and parked his car. There was a man on the bulldozer, but Norman headed inside instead. He put on the ARI and began to snoop.

Norman had barely seen the acid bath when a hulking figure moved in behind him. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" A meaty hand seized his shoulder and tossed him to the ground; Mad Jack stood over him, and he did not look too pleased to see Norman. In fact, he looked rather displeased.

Norman’s glasses were knocked off his face and onto the ground, lying on his back and looking up. This man was fucking massive- tall, buff, and with a furious expression. “I’m with the FBI. I’d like to ask a few questions?” He slowly, carefully began to stand.

"Did I say you could get up?" Mad Jack shoved him down again, scowling. "The fuck's the FBI want with me?"

Norman grit his teeth, annoyed, and sat up instead of trying to stand. “1983 Chevy Malibu. Ring a bell?”

He pretended to think. "Nope, I'm 'fraid not. Is that all?"

“Listen, I just wanna know who you sold it to. You ain’t gonna be in any trouble if you tell me... but if we find out that you sold the car to the man we're looking for, you're looking at some pretty solid time inside, Jacky-boy.” Norman slowly attempted to rise to his feet again.

Jack shoved him back down,. "I didn't sell any damned Malibu, now get lost. I don't like trespassers... And you won't like what I do to them."

“Stop fuckin’ shoving me.” Norman snapped, patience wearing thin. “I saw the tire tracks and the paint from the car I’m askin’ about. I know you had it here, so I suggest you talk.”

"Or else what?" He took a threatening step towards Norman, towering over him in his prone position. "Seems like you're all alone here... And I know how to handle snooping pigs."

“I can have backup here real quick.” Norman threatened, carefully reaching for his gun.

Jack kicked his hand, launching the gun across the floor. He stomped on him, crushing his hand underfoot. "I can get you torn up and burned away even quicker," he snarled.

Norman groaned in pain. “We don’t have to make this difficult. Just tell me who you sold the car to. Even if you get rid of me, more cops will come for you.”

"And I'll tell them the same thing I told you," Mad Jack snapped. He drew his own gun and pointed it at Norman's face. "Get up, slow."

Norman obeyed, holding his hands up as he stood slowly, almost stumbling but managing to stand up straight without an issue. “You think you can stand up to a whole bunch of cops?”

"If they're all fucking pathetic twinks like you?" Jack scoffed. "Yeah, I think I can." He grabbed Norman by the arm and spun him around, pressing the gun to the small of his back. "Walk, nice and easy."

Norman huffed, taking slow steps, obeying for a minute before spinning around and grabbing hold of Mad Jack’s wrist. He yanked the gun out of his hand, letting it fall to the floor with a loud clatter.

"Son of a—!" Mad Jack swung his fist and planted it in Norman's face, sending him reeling backwards.

Norman grunted, stumbling back and landing on the table holding Jack’s tools. He ducked under it, scanning the room for the guns. His own was near the front of the room, and Mad Jack’s was to the opposite side.

Jack grabbed the table edge and flipped it, sending tools flying every which way. "Playing hide and seek, little piggy? I always win."

Norman quickly stood, taking advantage of his small stature to duck past him, running for the gun Jack had dropped. He tripped over one of the fallen tools on the way, scrambling to reach for his gun. He managed to grab it, turning quickly onto his back and pointing it at Mad Jack. “Back. Up.”

"You just wanna know about the Malibu?" Mad Jack put his hands halfway up, backing up slowly. His eyes watched Norman to warily, flicking between him and his own scattered weapons.

“That’s right. Who you sold it to. I want a name, Jack.” Norman demanded, standing up and keeping the gun trained on him.

"I don't ask names," he growled, taking another step back. His eyes darted around, from the scattered weapons and the acid bath, to the open doors and the crusher in the far distance.

“Keep backing up.” Norman demanded, until Jack backed into something and stumbled, falling amongst a few barrels of gasoline. “Who bought the fucking car?”

"Why the fuck should I tell you?" Jack spat. He sat up, leaning against a barrel. "I don't deal with cops."

Jack followed his angle to the barrels and smirked. "If you wanted to blow something, all you had to do was say so." He waved an inviting hand down at his groin.

Norman blanched, his eyes widening. “No. That’s inappropriate.” He snapped, the hand holding his gun starting to tremble as the edges of his vision grew fuzzy. 

“Fuck..” He mumbled to himself, stumbling back a little. He reached for his pocket, digging around. Bad time for withdrawals. Really bad time for withdrawals.

Jack got slowly to his feet. "Oh? What's the matter, pretty boy? They're hiring druggies now? That desperate, are they?" He approached gradually, stretching his hand out.

“No- fuck off, I- you’re under- you’re under arrest.” Normal stumbled a little more before finally finding the vial, quickly removing the top and holding it to his nostril. He inhaled, snorting it, letting it quickly settle his symptoms as his gun hand steadied.

Mad Jack chuckled. "Yeah? You're gonna arrest me?" He lunged forward and swatted the vial to the ground, smashing it underfoot. "No, what you're gonna do it drop the gun and turn around like a good little boy. If you want to live, you'll walk out of here without another word." Even as he said it, he was plotting his journey to reach the other gun on the ground, just yards away.

Norman stared down at the spilt tripto, having only snorted just enough to take the edge off. His vision was still a little blurry, his hands still a bit shaky, but he could manage. “I said,” he put his finger on the trigger, “You’re under arrest. You turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

"No, I don't think so." Jack took another step towards him. He was confident and at ease, thinking he would easily muscle this pathetic druggie cop backwards until he could either snatch the gun from his hand or from the floor.

“I’ll shoot.” Norman threatened, aiming the gun at him. When jack stepped again, he pointed the gun down and shot the man in the foot.

"Son of a—!" Jack roared, lurching to the side as he hopped in pain. He swung a meaty fist at Norman and caught him across the face.

Norman stumbled back, feeling the impact split his lip, the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. He got above Jack, pulling out handcuffs and swiftly maneuvering the man so his wrists were clasped in them. “You’re under arrest.” He repeated sharply.

Jack writhed, cursing in pain and fury. "Get the fuck off me!" But he couldn't fight to get up with his foot shot through, and he was already cuffed.

“Up.” Norman ordered, yanking at the chain connecting the cuffs. “I’m taking you to the station.”

Jack staggered to his feet with a yell of pain, dragging his wounded foot. "Fucking cunt, I'll tell you the name, okay?"

Norman paused. He was gonna take him in anyway, but... “What is it?”

"John Sheppard," Jack groaned, holding his foot off the ground to alleviate the pressure.

“Thank you.” Norman said coolly. “You’re under arrest for the attempted assault of an officer, resisting arrest, and admitting to the selling of stolen vehicles. Anything you say can and will be held against you, so I suggest you shut the fuck up.” He shoved him toward the car.

"Fuck you," Jack snarled, limping towards the car. He cast one last look at his bulldozer and the nearby crusher, lamenting the fact that he would never get to see the cop crushed within it.

Norman shoved him into the back seat, closing the door before pulling out his phone and calling the station. He briefly explained who he was and why he was calling, and soon enough there was a cop car approaching the yard, and two officers moving Mad Jack from Norman’s back seat to theirs.

One of the officers fixed Norman in a scathing look. "No need to tell us why you really came here, Jayden. I think we know already, just looking at him." He took in Jack's and Norman's disheveled appearances and scoffed.

Norman looked confused, looking from Mad Jack then back to the officer. What? “What do you mean? I explained over the phone that I came to investigate a possible link in the case, and he proved to be a dangerous criminal beyond that.”

"Yeah?" He raised his brow. "What happened, he didn't have the 'information' he promised and you got pissed, hm?" He threw air quotes around the word, his lips curving into a nasty smirk.

Norman looked more confused. “I got the information, and was assaulted and almost killed in the process.” He said sharply. “That’s why he’s being arrested. Along with admittance to selling stolen property.”

"Yeah, alright," the officer drawled. He looked Norman up and down, rolled his eyes, and turned to his fellow officer to heckle Mad Jack in the backseat.

Norman went back to his own car, feeling confused and unnerved. He followed the police car with Mad Jack all the way back to the station, and only earned more weird looks and murmurs when he entered. 

It had to have been something Blake did. 

He walked up to the Lieutenant’s desk, slamming a hand down on it. “I think we need to talk.”

All the officers at the desks around started snickering quietly, like it was middle school and Blake had just been called to the office. Blake leaned back in his chair, smirking at Jayden. 

"Yeah? What about?"

“In my office.” Norman added, voice cold and edged with annoyance, or maybe anger.

The snickering grew louder. Blake made a big show of rolling his eyes and pushed up from his desk, trailing after Norman to his office.

Norman made sure the door was shut firmly behind him before turning on Blake. “What did you do?” He snapped, fighting the urge to fucking slap him. “What did you fuckin’ say, Blake?”

"I didn't say anything..." He quirked an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

“You know what I’m talking about.” Norman crossed his arms. “Everyone’s looking at me weird, laughin’ and whisperin’. The cops who came to take Mad Jack said some weird shit too.”

"Yeah? They always look at you weird, Jayden, it's cause you're weird. Is that it?" Blake moved towards the door, ready to leave.

“You told them, didn’t you?” Norman’s hand shot out and he grabbed Blake by the wrist.

"Told them what?" Blake yanked his arm back, smacking Norman's hand away. "What is there to tell?"

“That you- that we- you know what!” Norman snapped. “You told them!”

"Told them what?" he snapped back. "Jayden, I don't know what you're talking about. If you dragged me in here to get hysterical, I have better shit to do.”

“You had sex with me!” Norman hissed through gritted teeth. “And you told them, didn’t you?”

"What the fuck are you talking about, Jayden?" Blake took a step back, scowling. "Is this what you think about in here? I'd never touch you, you fucking fag."

“Are you fuckin’ kidding?” Norman shoved at him, seething. “Are you fuckin’ serious? Your dick was inside me!”

"Keep your fucking fantasies to yourself, cause I'm not interested," Blake snapped. He grabbed the doorknob and made to go out.

Norman grabbed him by the arm again and yanked him back in, leaving the door shut. “Blake, you’re fucking kidding, right?”

"Let go of me!" Blake jerked away entirely too urgently for a man with nothing to hide. "Listen, Jayden, I don't know what you want from me but you're not getting it."

“You fucked me! Yesterday! And now you’re acting like you didn’t, after you spent yesterday afternoon gloating. I just want to know why you fucking told everyone.”

"What the fuck, Jayden?" Blake reached for the door again. "I told you, keep your fucked up fantasies to yourself. If you wanna jack off to me, whatever, but I ain't gay!"

“Blake! Jesus Christ!” Norman finally snapped, reaching out and grabbing Blake by the collar of his shirt. The lieutenant was bigger, stronger, but Norman had the element of surprise... kind of. “What did you fucking tell everyone?”

"Get your fucking hands off me!" Blake shoved him back and planted his fist in Norman's face. He grabbed the office door and stormed out before he could say another word, skin crawling.

Norman stumbled back, falling against the wall and dropping to sit on the floor as the door slammed shut behind Blake. His healing split lip split back open, blood dribbling down his chin. What the fuck? What the fuck? He was confused and disoriented.


	3. Chapter 3

Norman stumbled into the station, beat up yet again, the torn-off pocket and receipts shoved into his own pocket, glove and glasses tucked away. He just had to run over some things in the office, check a few clues, look over a few files. Norman noticed Blake, sitting at his desk with the light on, but ignored him and headed to his office. 

Blake eyed him as he walked past, several file folders open on his desk. He leafed through a few more pages before huffing a sigh and looking after Jayden. It had just been him in the station, and Jayden's added presence had Blake uneasy. Even if he was locked up in his office, probably with those stupid glasses on his face.

It was, in fact, with the stupid glasses on his face. Norman looked deeply focused, hands moving wildly in the air as he sorted through evidence. Gold watch. Gun from police custody. It had to be someone who’d worked on or with the force.

Blake sighed, rising from his desk and stomping over to Jayden's office. He went to knock, but heard quiet muttering and instead pushed the door open without a word. Jayden was sitting at his desk again, sure enough with those glasses on, swiping his hands through the air.

“Carter Blake.” Norman murmured to himself, not noticing the intruder. The gun, the watch, it had to be. “That’s why he’s so urgent to frame Ethan Mars...”

"What about me?" Blake snapped, pulling the glasses from Jayden's face. There was blood beaded in his eyes, a streak of it dripping down his cheek, and in his shock Blake dropped the glasses.

Norman almost fell back in his chair, looking up in shock at Blake. “What the fuck are you doing in my office?” He reached out, scrambling to grab the glasses.

Norman almost fell back in his chair, looking up in shock at Blake. “What the fuck are you doing in my office?” He reached out, scrambling to grab the glasses.

"Why am I framing Mars?" Blake challenged. He took a step closer. "And why the fuck are you bleeding?"

Norman looked at him, eyes still wide with surprise for a moment before he blinked quickly, reaching up to wipe the wetness from his cheek. Blood. Fucking ARI. “None of your fucking business, Blake.” He snapped.

"Your eye blood isn't my business?" He gave him a dry look. "Listen, Jayden, if you wanna hole up with your dumbass sunglasses and bleed from your eyes, knock yourself out, but I am not the goddamn Origami Killer!" He kicked the desk to accentuate his words.

“Never said you were.” Norman sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. There was still a streak of smeared blood on his face, but he made no move to wipe it away. He glanced down as Blake kicked the desk, hoping he’d stub a toe.

Blake tsked, still fuming, and reached out to wipe the blood away from his cheek. "We'll get Mars soon, though," he sneered, swiping his thumb through the streak to clean it. "Then you can fuck off back to Washington."

“He’s innocent.” Norman grimaced, leaning away from Blake. “And don’t fucking touch me, you piece of shit.”

He let his hand drop, watching Norman's face. "We'll see about that," he said coolly. "We'll see how innocent he is when the killings stop."

“You’ve not done a single bit of research, have you, Blake?” Norman stood, stepping toward him. “You know nothing about Mars. A shit cop, accusing a man of killing so many when that man was in a literal fucking coma for some of the murders!” He’d done some digging, in case Blake was really going to push the Ethan Mars accusation. And it seemed he was.

"A coma?" Blake echoed. His brow furrowed. "What coma?" He didn't have to worry about workplace punishment, not with Perry in his pocket, but the media would thrash him if he had truly overlooked something like that.

“His six fucking month coma after his first son died.” Norman spat. “Very fucking easy to find out if you look even just at a fucking newspaper from that year. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? Because you mindlessly accuse people to save your own ass.”

"Save my own ass? You think I'm the fucking killer, really Jayden?" He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, longing to plant his fist in that stupid fucking face of his.

“The killer has a gold watch.” Norman looked at Blake’s exact watch, on the wrist of the hand holding his collar. “And a gun that this precinct should have locked up as evidence.”

"And? A lot of guys have gold watches..." But the gun was more pressing, and Blake trailed off. He loosened his grip on Norman, before releasing him entirely. Begrudgingly, he said, "What else?"

“Gas station receipts.” Norman stepped back, eyes narrowed. Did he really want to tell Blake? “And I have ways to put this all together and find the killer. But I don’t have to fuckin’ tell you, do I?”

"What?" Blake snapped. "Do you want to catch this fucker or what? Tell me what you've found."

“I don’t think I need you for this, Blake.” He sneered, crossing his arms.

"What, you're gonna catch him by yourself? You, Norman fucking Jayden?" Blake prodded him in the chest, knocking him back a step. "Please."

“Don’t touch me.” Norman snapped, stumbling to regain his balance. “I’ll catch him without you.”

"Yeahhh, I'm sure you will." Blake crossed his arms, sneering. "What're you gonna do? Nahmen Jayden, Eff Bee Aiy! You're under arrest!" he mocked, pretending to hold up a badge.

Norman sneered right back at him, tone laced with anger. “If you just came in here to get hysterical, I have better shit to do.” He said mockingly.

Blake's mouth opened to retort, then it dawned on his face. He closed his mouth and regarded him with narrowed eyes. "So."

“So.” Norman repeated, still mocking. “I don’t need to tell you shit. I can do this all on my own just fuckin’ fine.”

"You think so?" Blake snipped. "How about I report you to Perry for withholding information?"

“One call,” Norman stepped toward him again, “One call, and I can ruin your fucking career. Your fucking life. I’m a federal agent, and I’ve seen you beat suspects, I’ve seen you break and enter, I’ve watched you mindlessly pursue a man for murders he wasn’t even conscious for.”

Blake shifted on discomfort. He instinctively took a half-step back before he realized what he was doing and steeled himself, holding his ground. "So, what? You tell me if I tell you?"

“Maybe.” Norman said coolly. “I’m not in the business of blackmail, but if you continue to act like an unbalanced psychopathic asshole, I’m gonna be making reports. I suggest you talk.”

"I— I told one person, it's not my fault she blabbed," Blake said, furrowing his brow and not looking Norman in the eyes. "I told Charlene you were gay."

“You told her knowing she would tell others.” Norman said sharply. “You told her knowing it would fucking ruin me. It would make everyone hate me. You did it on purpose.”

"Charlene wouldn't ruin you, she's not like that," Blake argued. "Somebody must've overheard, or something. You know how things spread. It was an accident."

Norman raised an eyebrow. “You’re a horrible liar, Blake. So get the fuck out of my office.”

"Okay, fine, I—" Blake huffed a sigh. "I knew she would tell people, and that's why I told her."

“Yeah. I fucking know.” Norman snarled. “So get the fuck out. I want nothing to do with you, you grimy, hot-headed piece of shit.”

"Grimy?" Blake echoed. "What the fuck? You look like you snorted crack six days ago and haven't showered since!"

“I look like I shower every night and you know it!” Norman snapped. “And I’ve never snorted crack in my life! Now get the fuck out instead of bothering me, you piece of shit!”

"I told you, man, now you tell me!" Blake shoved him, stepping bodily into him to back him against the wall. "You want me to apologize, is that it?"

“Don’t touch me!” Norman snapped again, annoyed by being fucking cornered. “I don’t have to tell you shit!”

Blake grabbed his tie, pulling his face closer. "Read my lips, asshole. We can work together on this. Tell me what you want."

“I want you to get the fuck out of my office.” He shoved at him. “I don’t want to work with you any fuckin’ more!”

Blake shoved his arm up against Norman's throat, half-choking him. "I don't care what you want, fucker! This is my goddamned case!"

“Fuck off-“ Norman snarled, fighting against him until his thigh brushed against Blake’s crotch. He was fucking hard. Of course. “And you call me gross?” He scoffed.

"Wha— Fuck," he hissed, taking a step back. He let him go, cheeks flushed with shame and fury. "What, you don't? When you're fighting?"

“No! I don’t get hard from arguing with people!” Norman threw his arms up, exasperated. “You’re fucking unbelievable!”

"Yeah?" Blake darted a hand out and groped him. "Well, you seem to like something here, cause that's not soft."

Norman made an embarrassing sound, something like a surprised yelp that he tried to muffle. “Blake! You can’t just- you can’t fuckin’ grab me!” He squirmed, feeling his cock stiffen at the touch.

"I think we can work something out here," Blake said, his hand cupping Norman's crotch. A sleazy grin crossed his lips. "I do something for you, and you let me help you with this case."

“That- Blake, that’s unprofessional.“ Norman’s voice quivered slightly, arousal curling in the pit of his stomach. “And after you told everyone? I don’t think so.” He didn’t sound quite as firm as he was trying to sound.

"Oh, come on. It's not like I told everyone what a fucking slut you are, spread open and crying for my cock." Blake tightened his grip, smirking at him.

“You wouldn’t have told them because they’d know you liked it.” Norman bit back, gasping softly. He was becoming very quickly erect.

"Norman," he drawled, enunciating the syllables. He squeezed a little tighter, stroking his hand slowly upwards. "What do you want now? Tell me."

“Get- Get out.” He protested weakly, squirming a bit at the stimulation. It felt good, too good to move away from.

"No, I don't think that's what you want. That's not what this is saying, anyways." Norman's cock was hard in his hand, and he could feel the heat of it through the fabric of his pants.

“Blake.” He groaned. “You’re an asshole. You’re such a fuckin’ asshole.” His hips jerked slightly, cock grinding against Blake’s palm.

Blake tsked, fumbling to unzip Norman's pants and slip his hand inside. "You want me to fuck you again, don't you?" he murmured. "You're so fucking hard, Jayden, what the fuck..."

“You’re touching me! Of course I’m fuckin’ hard!” Norman argued, leaning back against the wall. “Oh fuck, fuck...”

"You really are just a slut, aren't you?" He started to ease Norman's pants down, letting them drop to the floor. "Get on the desk, Jayden," he ordered, but didn't wait from him to move. Instead, he grabbed him by the waist and lifted him to sit on the desk, his cock hanging heavy and flushed between his thighs.

Norman didn’t fight it, letting Blake move him onto the desk and letting his legs fall spread once he was on it. His cheeks were flushed dark, and a precome was beading at his slit. “Blake...”

Blake cursed, unzipping his jeans and pulling his own cock free. He stroked himself a few times, watching Norman's eyes on him, and tugged his tie. "Suck my dick, Jayden. Then I'm gonna fuck you, and you're gonna scream for me, cause we're the only ones here."

Norman shuddered slightly. “How am I gonna suck your dick when I’m on the desk and you’re two feet tall?” He taunted.

"Shut the fuck up," he snapped. Jayden was barely two inches taller, dammit. He yanked his tie again, tugging his head down.

“Still ain’t gonna work, Blake.” Norman teased. “Your waist reaches just above my desk, and I can’t fold in half.”

"Fine, then flip over and we'll see how you like it dry," Blake said snidely, annoyed enough that he might actually try it.

“No, that’s- Blake.” Norman huffed, sliding off the desk and onto his knees. He hadn’t sucked a dick in a long time. Years. “You’d fucking tear me and chafe your dick.”

Blake took him by the chin, sliding his thumb along Norman's bottom lip. "Shut up, Jayden. I wanna see what else that mouth is good for besides pissing me the fuck off."

Norman raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out, licking over the slit. The thought vaguely passed his mind that he missed sucking dick, but he felt like a slut even thinking that and his cheeks flushed pink.

Blake groaned softly, watching him. He slid his hand through Norman's hair, twining his fingers through the soft locks and tugging none-too-gently.

Norman shifted forward, wrapping his lips around the head of Blake’s cock. He shifted his gaze down to Blake’s waist so he didn’t have to stare at his face, which would only make him blush darker.

"No," Blake muttered. "Look at me." Arousal swirled low in his gut at just the sight of Jayden's lips on his dick, the power he had over him in the moment, and he wanted Jayden's eyes on him so he knew exactly who he was blowing.

His cheeks flushed darker but he obeyed, looking up at Blake as he took more of him into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the head, reaching down to palm at his own cock.

"Fuck, Jayden, you were made for this," he hissed. His lips looked too good stretched around his cock, cheeks all flushed red and eyes dark with lust.

Norman made a soft sound, a bit of a pleased hum as he wrapped his hand around his cock and slowly took in more of Blake’s. He sucked at what was in his mouth so far, brows furrowed slightly.

"C'mon, Jayden, you've got a throat, don't you?" He tightened his grip in Norman's hair and pushed him down a bit, forcing him to take more in.

Norman gagged a little as the head of Blake’s cock hit against the back of his throat. He whined, forcing himself to relax his jaw more to take it.

"Fuck," Blake spat, barely refraining from thrusting his hips forward. Jayden's mouth was hot and wet around him, his tongue working what it could.

Norman whined again, his hips jerking slightly as he stroked his own cock. He hollowed out his cheeks a bit and began slowly bobbing his head. 

"You like this, don't you? Like sucking dick?" Blake tugged his hair again, watching his lips stretch around his cock.

Norman moaned out an indecipherable ‘yes’ that was muffled almost completely by the cock in his mouth. He was achingly hard now, precome smearing onto his palm as he dragged his tongue along the underside of Blake’s cock.

"Are you gonna cum, Jayden? Fucking cum in your hand just from sucking my cock?" He rolled his hips, forcing Norman to take him to the base.

He choked and gagged, swallowing around his cock as it pushed into his throat, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He began to stroke himself quicker, sucking on Blake’s cock as best he could.

"Needy little slut, that's all you are..." Blake muttered, more for his own benefit of hearing the words than Jayden's. He seemed focused on the task at hand, eyes shut and working enthusiastically at his cock. The sight had Blake groaning, carding his fingers through Jayden's hair.

Norman finally pulled off, gasping for air for a few moments, drool on his chin. He blinked up, eyes wet and teary, lifting his free hand to stroke Blake’s cock as he stuck his tongue out, lapping at the head.

"Such a fucking slut, Jayden." Blake grabbed him by the chin, sliding his thumb between his lips and groaning as his tongue laved at it. "You just wanna be fucked, don't you?"

Yes. But he also wanted to make Blake cum and to catch it in his mouth, to have the lieutenant watch as he swallowed it. He shivered slightly and began to stroke Blake’s cock faster, in time with his own.

Blake kicked Jayden's hand away from his cock, stepping lightly down to keep him from touching himself. He grabbed him by the hair and forced himself back into Jayden's mouth, thrusting shallowly into him.

Norman whined in protest, cock aching at the lack of stimulation, precome smeared along the length. His eyelashes fluttered as he looked up at Blake, letting him fuck into his mouth.

"Look at you," he snarled. "Letting yourself be fucking used like this." He toed Jayden's cock, grinding the tip of his boot against it.

Norman made an obscenely loud sound that was only partly muffled, his hips jerking and eyelids fluttering shut. He sucked harder at Blake’s cock, silently begging him to cum in his mouth already.

The heat was rushing deeper, and he ground his boot harder against Jayden's cock. His fingers tightened in Jayden's hair, rolling his hips and groaning softly. "Fuck, Jayden," he hissed.

Norman just moaned around him, bobbing his head as best he could while Blake was controlling the pace. He jerked his hips again, grinding his cock back against the boot, cheeks flushing at how absurdly disgusting the action seemed.

"Fuck!" Blake hissed again, his cock throbbing. He rolled his hips again, more desperately this time. "Jayden, I'm gonna—"

Norman opened his eyes, looking up at Blake, fluttering his lashes and humming softly, letting the vibrations work around his cock.

He wasn't pulling back, so Blake held his head in place as he came with a muttered jumble of curses and Jayden's name.

Norman kept sucking through his orgasm, swallowing what he could as best he could, trying not to choke or gag around Blake’s cock.

Blake pulled back, eyeing the dribble of cum down Jayden's lips with another flash of lust. He ground his boot harder against his cock for the briefest moment, staring down at him with a dark gaze, before turning on his heel and whisking away out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Norman just stared at the door in shock for a few moments, absentmindedly licking the stray cum from his lips. He felt something twist uncomfortably inside him and pushed the feeling away, brushed it off as anger or annoyance or something of the like. What the fuck was going on with this? Was Blake going to just keep fucking with him in his office and abandoning him after?

The feeling was still there, and it was unpleasant, and Norman’s aching cock softened without even coming first. He sighed quietly to himself. Well. He had a job to do, after all, and he still had a few things to piece together.


	4. Chapter 4

Another day. Norman knew who the killer was. Scott Shelby, former police officer, and a man he knew was an old friend of Lieutenant Carter fucking Blake. The man owned a warehouse on the docks, one that could possibly be where he was keeping Shaun Mars. Norman couldn’t go without backup, it was too risky. So he’d been up all night, snorting tripto and thinking about the evidence and about Blake. Taking a cold shower in his clothes. Taking more tripto. Taking twenty minute naps and waking up over and over. Now, though, he was at the station. Now he could finally fucking get the backup he needed to safely save Shaun Mars. He walked straight past Blake’s desk and went to Captain Perry’s office, knocking loudly at the door. 

"Come in," Perry's voice drawled. He was sitting at his desk when the door opened, and didn't look up when Norman entered. "What is it, Jayden? Did Blake hit another murderer?"

Norman huffed, visibly annoyed at the comment. “No. But I know who the actual killer is. And where Shaun Mars is likely located. I need backup. Back up that won’t run and shoot if they see Ethan Mars, who is definitely fuckin’ innocent.”

"Take it, then," Perry said uncaringly. He turned in his chair to pull a file from a drawer, tossing it onto his desk on top of several others. "If it solves this case, you can take what you need."

“Great.” Norman huffed, ignoring the file and walking out to Blake’s desk. “Get backup. Now. I’ll be in the car. I know who the killer is, and where Shaun Mars is. And keep your fucking dick out of it this time.” He snapped, briskly walking out of the station.

Blake stared after him, grumbling, and rose from his desk. "Grisham. Lasher. Ash. Holmstead. C'mon, you're with me. And him. Fucking Jayden," he muttered, throwing his coat on and holstering his gun. They went out to the parking lot, the others teaming together in their cars while Blake slid into the driver's seat of his own. Jayden was already in the passenger seat, hands in his lap. Blake ignored him as he started up the car.

“It’s not Mars, by the way.” Norman said coolly, not even looking at him. “It’s a friend of yours, actually. Shocking.” He didn’t sound shocked.

"Fucking hell..." Blake muttered, maintaining a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. "Who? Who is it, Jayden?"

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He said simply, with a shrug. He wasn’t happy with Blake at all, and the weird twisting feeling in his stomach hadn’t gone away.

Blake grumbled, but didn't push. The awkward tension in the car was tangible, and he had little desire to address it, nor worsen it. The only words that broke the silence were Jayden's curt directions, leading them to a decrepit old warehouse and junkyard.

"This place is a shithole," Blake snapped.

“Perfect for fucking murdering children.” Norman snapped right back as the car was parked, throwing the door open. “I’ll go in. You stay out here. It’s Scott Shelby, by the way. The good buddy you covered for? Nice fuckin’ job, lieutenant.” He slammed the door and jogged toward the warehouse.

Scot Shelby...? Blake stared after Jayden, feeling as though he were shutting down. His friend, his own fucking friend was a goddamned murderer, killing right under his nose and lying to him. He pulled the door handle and got out, waving to the other officers in their cars to stay put, and walked after Jayden.

Norman quietly entered, scanning the surroundings. Shaun had to be there somewhere. He had to he. He scanned the room, gaze finally catching on what looked to be a grate by the far end. He started a jog that turned into a run, sprinting toward the grate. Sure enough, there was Shaun Mars. And the grate was padlocked shut. Fuck.

Blake opened the door, heading in slowly and glancing around. The place was rusted to hell and falling apart, and he stepped carefully over the fallen pieces of shit all over the floor on his way to where Jayden stood at the opposite end. 

"You found him?" he called as he drew nearer.

“Yeah. Padlocked in.” Norman huffed. “Hey, Shaun. You alright?”

The kid blinked up at him, eyes red-rimmed and surrounded by dark bags. He’d quite obviously not slept in days. “Help...” his voice was soft, timid, scared. 

“We’re on it. Blake, got any ways to break this damn lock?”

Blake looked around, pacing several yards away. There were plenty of fallen boards and bits of scrap metal, bit nothing sturdy enough to break a lock. Except for that.... He stooped low and scooped up the pole, hurrying back to Jayden's side. He stuck the end in the loop of the lock and jerked it, slamming the pole until the lock snapped.

“Jesus, Blake!“ Norman huffed, lifting up the grate and shoving it backward. He reached down to Shaun, fumbling to get ahold of him and pull him up. The poor kid looked like he was on the verge of collapse.

Blake reached down to help, the two of them hauling Shaun Mars up onto dry ground. The kid sank boneless against the concrete and didn't move save for exhausted little wheezes of breath. Blake smoothed his hair back from his face, tilting his head up for easier airlflow. 

"It's alright kid, you're safe now," he murmured.

Norman glanced up from the kid as he heard a creak, noticing a man stepping in. Scott fucking Shelby. How’d he get in without the cops noticing? Or did they trust him, someone who used to be one of them? He put his hand on his gun, standing slowly. 

“Don’t come any closer.” He warned.

Blake remained seated, pulling Shaun Mars closer to himself. "Scott..." he said, staring at his old friend. Betrayal and fury twisted in his gut. "Scott, what the fuck is all this?"

“Language.” Norman snapped. There was a child with them and he didn’t need to hear that. He pulled out his gun, carefully aiming it at Scott. “I want you to turn around, hands behind your back. We can do this the easy way. Or the hard way.”

"What's the hard way? You two teach me a lesson I won't forget?" Scott Shelby shook his head. "I waited for so long to find a father willing to save his son... And you fucking beat him here?" he roared. Shaun was shaking in Blake's hold, likely thinking of his father, or fearful of Scott.

“I’ll shoot, Scott.” Norman threatened, holding his gun steady. “These children are innocent. And Ethan Mars has been through enough. You can’t blame him for us reaching Shaun first. Blame yourself for being sloppy.”

Scott reached into his coat and drew his own gun, training it on Blake's head. Blake's eyes widened. 

"Scott, wha—"

"You can shoot me, but he dies too," Scott threatened. "Or, you can let me go and the three of you walk out safe."

Norman hesitated. He felt his heart rate quicken, a weird twisting in his chest and a weight in his gut. “You wouldn’t shoot him.” He said, keeping his voice calm and even. “Come on, Scott. You’re old friends. And even if we let you go now, you’d still be found later. Be reasonable, come on!”

"Old friends means nothing to me. I'll shoot," Scott spat. He jerked the gun, taking a slow step closer, keeping it aimed right between Blake's eyes. Blake moved his hand to cover Shaun's eyes. He didn't need to see what was going to happen; Norman, for his case, would sacrifice Blake. No doubt.

“Stop moving.” Norman snapped. “Put the gun down. Use your brain! How will killing him help anyone?”

"You won't let him die," Scott said, but he halted. "You let me go, he lives." His finger came to rest on the trigger. "I'm waiting, fucker."

Norman grit his teeth, hesitating a moment, but finally let his arms fall to his side. “Fine.” He hissed, brows furrowed and cheeks heated with frustration. “The kid doesn’t need to see anyone die.”

Scott grit his teeth, lowering his arm and firing anyways. Blake cried out, and Scott turned and bolted for the side door.

“Fuck!” Norman shouted, looking at Blake and then the door. He grabbed Blake’s radio. “Scott Shelby is the killer. He’s leaving the side door. Go after him.” He shouted into it, then threw it aside and knelt next to Blake. “Fuck. Fuck! Where were you shot?”

Blake struggled to sit up from where he'd fallen, but blood coated the side of his shirt. "St-stomach," he panted. Shaun crawled back a step, shaking, his eyes wide.

Sirens and shouting rang out outside, but Norman ignored them, staring wide-eyed at the wound. “Fuck. We need an ambulance. Oh fuck.” He reached out to unbutton Blake’s shirt and get a better look at the wound, to maybe be able to wrap it up with something.

Blake shifted as best he could to let Norman pull his shirt off, but he let out a hissed whimper of pain. Blood streaked down his side.

“Jesus fuck, Blake.” Norman let out a sigh as he saw the wound. It was definitely a painful one, but he could tell it wasn’t deadly and wouldn’t cause internal damage. The bullet had skimmed his side, hadn’t really actually entered him. He let out a breathy, relieved laugh. “Jesus fuck. Okay. Alright. You’re okay. Fuck. Still should get an ambulance probably, but you’re alright.”

"It doesn't fucking feel like I'm okay!" he bitched, groaning in pain. There was blood everywhere, how was he not dying?

“It skimmed you, Blake.” Jayden promised. “It’s not inside you or anything. It’ll just need to be bandaged and looked after while it heals.” He looked at the lieutenant for a moment before lunging forward and hugging him, ignoring the odd tightness in his chest. He made sure to avoid the wound.

Blake made an odd, pathetic little whine as he was moved, but one of his arms moved to wrap loosely around Norman's shoulder. "He fucking shot me. I thought we were fucking friends, Jayden, and he fucking shot me! He's the fucking Origami Killer!"

“No fuckin’ shit.” Norman huffed, annoyed and worried at the same time. “We gotta get the kid out of here and to a hospital. And we gotta call his dad.” He pulled away awkwardly after a moment.

Blake leaned back, supporting his weight on one arm. "Did they catch him?" he asked gruffly, glancing towards the side door.

“I don’t know. If they didn’t, they will.” Norman wasn’t exactly paying attention to the walkie talkie. “I’ll get Shaun out to the car, then you, does that sound alright?”

"Yeah," he said, exhaling deeply. Every nerve of his side was lit aflame, more blood seeping with every passing second. He watched as Norman really helped Shaun out the door to the waiting help, wondering if he would actually come back for him.

Norman did come back a few minutes later after settling Shaun in the back seat of Blake’s car. He rushed over to him, helping him to his feet. “Alright. It’s gonna hurt to move, so you can lean on me, yeah?”

"Yeah," he breathed, more than a little surprised to see him actually return. If anything, he was expecting him to send someone else in instead. Just standing up, he was already lightheaded from blood loss, leaning heavily on Norman, his arm supporting Blake's back.

“You’re alright.” Norman promised, helping him toward the door. It took a lot longer than it had with Shaun, which was expected, as Blake was a grown ass man and not a child.

Once in the light, Blake tried to stand on his own and not lean on Norman. He didn't need anybody seeing him so weak, but he took one step and stumbled, pain lancing up his side. The bullet may not have done much internal damage according to Jayden, but it sure did shred his nerves.

“Almost there, it’s okay.” Norman helped him the rest of the way to the car, the passenger side door already opened, and gently helped him into it. He closed the door behind him and got into the driver’s seat. They’d left the car running so he was able to take right off, pulling out of the parking lot.

Blake turned his head to watch the spiraling lights behind them, the cuffed figure of Scott hulking beside Grisham and Ash. Hatred clenched at his heart. Damned son of a bitch. Now he was bleeding all over the seat of his fucking car, groaning in pain like some little pussy bitch.

“Don’t stress yourself out.” Norman scolded when he saw Blake looking around. “You already got shot.”

Blake shot him a glare, but said nothing. It wasn't the first time he'd been shot, or stabbed, or half blown-up... That was a hell of a story. But it was the first time he'd been shot by somebody who was supposed to be his fellow, his friend, and the betrayal of trust had his eyes stinging. He didn't let a single tear fall, though, turning his head back around to stare out the window, trying to focus on something aside from his wound.

Norman didn’t try to talk to him any more than that, and Shaun was dozing off in the backseat by the time they reached the emergency room. Norman parked the car, glancing from the kid to Blake. “I’ll bring him in first. Then I’ll help you again. That okay?” His voice was softer than normal, his tone gentle.

"Yeah," he grunted. He'd put a hand against his side, both stemming the blood flow and testing the sensitivity. It had slowed down, but it was deep enough to still be bleeding freely.

Norman was in and out within ten minutes. Someone on the force had evidently already alerted the hospital that Shaun Mars was likely coming in, and they were able to take him in very quickly, assuring Norman they’d contact the boy’s parents. He only went back out when he was sure Shaun was taken care of, heading to the passenger side door and opening it. “You ready?”

"Yeah," he said again, sitting up and trying to pretend as though his head wasn't spinning. He was beginning to wonder if some minor artery hadn't been torn, and that was why he'd bled so much.

Norman helped him up and inside, bringing him to the counter to talk to the receptionist. She already knew the situation from what he’d explained when bringing in Shaun, and was quickly able to get a nurse to bring Blake to a room.

"Why?" Blake asked once they were alone in the room, voice rough and quiet. His bleeding had been staunched, stitched and bandaged, and he had an IV hooked up to his arm.

“Why what?” Norman was sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed, heart still racing slightly faster than usual.

"Why aren't you with Mars?" It wasn't what he originally intended to ask, but the words were too soft and he couldn't bring himself to say them.

“His parents were there.” Norman answered simply, with a shrug. Blake looked so vulnerable like this, oddly handsome without his usual angry expression. Not that he normally wasn’t handsome. Not that Norman found him handsome at all. He quickly pushed away that train of thought. “Kid doesn’t even know me. Doesn’t need me intruding.”

"Why haven't you been dismissed yet? Doesn't Washington need you?" He tried a sneer, but either his heart wasn't in it or the drugs they had given him dulled his expressions as well as the pain.

“Blake. It’s not even been a fucking day since I found the killer.” Norman sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He didn’t want to argue with Blake right now. He also didn’t want to explain that he’d gone and contacted his superiors while Blake was being taken care of, had asked for them to come up with a reason for him to work in Philadelphia a little longer. To ‘keep an eye out’ or some shit.

The killer. Back to the killer, and the reason Blake felt like shit. A shitty ass police lieutenant, that's what he was. Couldn't even see what was right under his nose. Blake sighed, gazing up at the pristine white ceiling. A small, grainy television on the opposite wall played some hockey game he wasn't a fan of, and the tinny sound from the speakers was grating. Somewhere on the other side of the curtain, another patient was groaning in pain. Blake hated hospitals.

"Is Scott in custody?" he asked, knowing the answer but still needing the verbal confirmation.

“Yeah.” Norman nodded. “Don’t know much about it though, haven’t exactly had the time to go stop by the station.” He’d been with Blake the whole damn time, except for his brief hallway phone call.

"Oh." He shut his mouth and decided to ignore Norman. He wasn't entirely sure why he was here, let alone why he had been here the whole time. He couldn't say he didn't appreciate it, given that nobody else seemed to want to visit, but he and Jayden hated each other. The fact that he'd sit here now, keeping a worried eye on him, was strange and even unnerving.

“I can leave, if you want.” Norman said quietly after a while of sitting in silence. “Check on the station and stuff. I was just worried...” he trailed off.

Blayden 4

Another day. Norman knew who the killer was. Scott Shelby, former police officer, and a man he knew was an old friend of Lieutenant Carter fucking Blake. The man owned a warehouse on the docks, one that could possibly be where he was keeping Shaun Mars. Norman couldn’t go without backup, it was too risky. So he’d been up all night, snorting tripto and thinking about the evidence and about Blake. Taking a cold shower in his clothes. Taking more tripto. Taking twenty minute naps and waking up over and over. Now, though, he was at the station. Now he could finally fucking get the backup he needed to safely save Shaun Mars. He walked straight past Blake’s desk and went to Captain Perry’s office, knocking loudly at the door. 

"Come in," Perry's voice drawled. He was sitting at his desk when the door opened, and didn't look up when Norman entered. "What is it, Jayden? Did Blake hit another murderer?"

Norman huffed, visibly annoyed at the comment. “No. But I know who the actual killer is. And where Shaun Mars is likely located. I need backup. Back up that won’t run and shoot if they see Ethan Mars, who is definitely fuckin’ innocent.”

"Take it, then," Perry said uncaringly. He turned in his chair to pull a file from a drawer, tossing it onto his desk on top of several others. "If it solves this case, you can take what you need."

“Great.” Norman huffed, ignoring the file and walking out to Blake’s desk. “Get backup. Now. I’ll be in the car. I know who the killer is, and where Shaun Mars is. And keep your fucking dick out of it this time.” He snapped, briskly walking out of the station.

Blake stared after him, grumbling, and rose from his desk. "Grisham. Lasher. Ash. Holmstead. C'mon, you're with me. And him. Fucking Jayden," he muttered, throwing his coat on and holstering his gun. They went out to the parking lot, the others teaming together in their cars while Blake slid into the driver's seat of his own. Jayden was already in the passenger seat, hands in his lap. Blake ignored him as he started up the car.

“It’s not Mars, by the way.” Norman said coolly, not even looking at him. “It’s a friend of yours, actually. Shocking.” He didn’t sound shocked.

"Fucking hell..." Blake muttered, maintaining a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. "Who? Who is it, Jayden?"

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He said simply, with a shrug. He wasn’t happy with Blake at all, and the weird twisting feeling in his stomach hadn’t gone away.

Blake grumbled, but didn't push. The awkward tension in the car was tangible, and he had little desire to address it, nor worsen it. The only words that broke the silence were Jayden's curt directions, leading them to a decrepit old warehouse and junkyard.

"This place is a shithole," Blake snapped.

“Perfect for fucking murdering children.” Norman snapped right back as the car was parked, throwing the door open. “I’ll go in. You stay out here. It’s Scott Shelby, by the way. The good buddy you covered for? Nice fuckin’ job, lieutenant.” He slammed the door and jogged toward the warehouse.

Scot Shelby...? Blake stared after Jayden, feeling as though he were shutting down. His friend, his own fucking friend was a goddamned murderer, killing right under his nose and lying to him. He pulled the door handle and got out, waving to the other officers in their cars to stay put, and walked after Jayden.

Norman quietly entered, scanning the surroundings. Shaun had to be there somewhere. He had to he. He scanned the room, gaze finally catching on what looked to be a grate by the far end. He started a jog that turned into a run, sprinting toward the grate. Sure enough, there was Shaun Mars. And the grate was padlocked shut. Fuck.

Blake opened the door, heading in slowly and glancing around. The place was rusted to hell and falling apart, and he stepped carefully over the fallen pieces of shit all over the floor on his way to where Jayden stood at the opposite end. 

"You found him?" he called as he drew nearer.

“Yeah. Padlocked in.” Norman huffed. “Hey, Shaun. You alright?”

The kid blinked up at him, eyes red-rimmed and surrounded by dark bags. He’d quite obviously not slept in days. “Help...” his voice was soft, timid, scared. 

“We’re on it. Blake, got any ways to break this damn lock?”

Blake looked around, pacing several yards away. There were plenty of fallen boards and bits of scrap metal, bit nothing sturdy enough to break a lock. Except for that.... He stooped low and scooped up the pole, hurrying back to Jayden's side. He stuck the end in the loop of the lock and jerked it, slamming the pole until the lock snapped.

“Jesus, Blake!“ Norman huffed, lifting up the grate and shoving it backward. He reached down to Shaun, fumbling to get ahold of him and pull him up. The poor kid looked like he was on the verge of collapse.

Blake reached down to help, the two of them hauling Shaun Mars up onto dry ground. The kid sank boneless against the concrete and didn't move save for exhausted little wheezes of breath. Blake smoothed his hair back from his face, tilting his head up for easier airlflow. 

"It's alright kid, you're safe now," he murmured.

Norman glanced up from the kid as he heard a creak, noticing a man stepping in. Scott fucking Shelby. How’d he get in without the cops noticing? Or did they trust him, someone who used to be one of them? He put his hand on his gun, standing slowly. 

“Don’t come any closer.” He warned.

Blake remained seated, pulling Shaun Mars closer to himself. "Scott..." he said, staring at his old friend. Betrayal and fury twisted in his gut. "Scott, what the fuck is all this?"

“Language.” Norman snapped. There was a child with them and he didn’t need to hear that. He pulled out his gun, carefully aiming it at Scott. “I want you to turn around, hands behind your back. We can do this the easy way. Or the hard way.”

"What's the hard way? You two teach me a lesson I won't forget?" Scott Shelby shook his head. "I waited for so long to find a father willing to save his son... And you fucking beat him here?" he roared. Shaun was shaking in Blake's hold, likely thinking of his father, or fearful of Scott.

“I’ll shoot, Scott.” Norman threatened, holding his gun steady. “These children are innocent. And Ethan Mars has been through enough. You can’t blame him for us reaching Shaun first. Blame yourself for being sloppy.”

Scott reached into his coat and drew his own gun, training it on Blake's head. Blake's eyes widened. 

"Scott, wha—"

"You can shoot me, but he dies too," Scott threatened. "Or, you can let me go and the three of you walk out safe."

Norman hesitated. He felt his heart rate quicken, a weird twisting in his chest and a weight in his gut. “You wouldn’t shoot him.” He said, keeping his voice calm and even. “Come on, Scott. You’re old friends. And even if we let you go now, you’d still be found later. Be reasonable, come on!”

"Old friends means nothing to me. I'll shoot," Scott spat. He jerked the gun, taking a slow step closer, keeping it aimed right between Blake's eyes. Blake moved his hand to cover Shaun's eyes. He didn't need to see what was going to happen; Norman, for his case, would sacrifice Blake. No doubt.

“Stop moving.” Norman snapped. “Put the gun down. Use your brain! How will killing him help anyone?”

"You won't let him die," Scott said, but he halted. "You let me go, he lives." His finger came to rest on the trigger. "I'm waiting, fucker."

Norman grit his teeth, hesitating a moment, but finally let his arms fall to his side. “Fine.” He hissed, brows furrowed and cheeks heated with frustration. “The kid doesn’t need to see anyone die.”

Scott grit his teeth, lowering his arm and firing anyways. Blake cried out, and Scott turned and bolted for the side door.

“Fuck!” Norman shouted, looking at Blake and then the door. He grabbed Blake’s radio. “Scott Shelby is the killer. He’s leaving the side door. Go after him.” He shouted into it, then threw it aside and knelt next to Blake. “Fuck. Fuck! Where were you shot?”

Blake struggled to sit up from where he'd fallen, but blood coated the side of his shirt. "St-stomach," he panted. Shaun crawled back a step, shaking, his eyes wide.

Sirens and shouting rang out outside, but Norman ignored them, staring wide-eyed at the wound. “Fuck. We need an ambulance. Oh fuck.” He reached out to unbutton Blake’s shirt and get a better look at the wound, to maybe be able to wrap it up with something.

Blake shifted as best he could to let Norman pull his shirt off, but he let out a hissed whimper of pain. Blood streaked down his side.

“Jesus fuck, Blake.” Norman let out a sigh as he saw the wound. It was definitely a painful one, but he could tell it wasn’t deadly and wouldn’t cause internal damage. The bullet had skimmed his side, hadn’t really actually entered him. He let out a breathy, relieved laugh. “Jesus fuck. Okay. Alright. You’re okay. Fuck. Still should get an ambulance probably, but you’re alright.”

"It doesn't fucking feel like I'm okay!" he bitched, groaning in pain. There was blood everywhere, how was he not dying?

“It skimmed you, Blake.” Jayden promised. “It’s not inside you or anything. It’ll just need to be bandaged and looked after while it heals.” He looked at the lieutenant for a moment before lunging forward and hugging him, ignoring the odd tightness in his chest. He made sure to avoid the wound.

Blake made an odd, pathetic little whine as he was moved, but one of his arms moved to wrap loosely around Norman's shoulder. "He fucking shot me. I thought we were fucking friends, Jayden, and he fucking shot me! He's the fucking Origami Killer!"

“No fuckin’ shit.” Norman huffed, annoyed and worried at the same time. “We gotta get the kid out of here and to a hospital. And we gotta call his dad.” He pulled away awkwardly after a moment.

Blake leaned back, supporting his weight on one arm. "Did they catch him?" he asked gruffly, glancing towards the side door.

“I don’t know. If they didn’t, they will.” Norman wasn’t exactly paying attention to the walkie talkie. “I’ll get Shaun out to the car, then you, does that sound alright?”

"Yeah," he said, exhaling deeply. Every nerve of his side was lit aflame, more blood seeping with every passing second. He watched as Norman really helped Shaun out the door to the waiting help, wondering if he would actually come back for him.

Norman did come back a few minutes later after settling Shaun in the back seat of Blake’s car. He rushed over to him, helping him to his feet. “Alright. It’s gonna hurt to move, so you can lean on me, yeah?”

"Yeah," he breathed, more than a little surprised to see him actually return. If anything, he was expecting him to send someone else in instead. Just standing up, he was already lightheaded from blood loss, leaning heavily on Norman, his arm supporting Blake's back.

“You’re alright.” Norman promised, helping him toward the door. It took a lot longer than it had with Shaun, which was expected, as Blake was a grown ass man and not a child.

Once in the light, Blake tried to stand on his own and not lean on Norman. He didn't need anybody seeing him so weak, but he took one step and stumbled, pain lancing up his side. The bullet may not have done much internal damage according to Jayden, but it sure did shred his nerves.

“Almost there, it’s okay.” Norman helped him the rest of the way to the car, the passenger side door already opened, and gently helped him into it. He closed the door behind him and got into the driver’s seat. They’d left the car running so he was able to take right off, pulling out of the parking lot.

Blake turned his head to watch the spiraling lights behind them, the cuffed figure of Scott hulking beside Grisham and Ash. Hatred clenched at his heart. Damned son of a bitch. Now he was bleeding all over the seat of his fucking car, groaning in pain like some little pussy bitch.

“Don’t stress yourself out.” Norman scolded when he saw Blake looking around. “You already got shot.”

Blake shot him a glare, but said nothing. It wasn't the first time he'd been shot, or stabbed, or half blown-up... That was a hell of a story. But it was the first time he'd been shot by somebody who was supposed to be his fellow, his friend, and the betrayal of trust had his eyes stinging. He didn't let a single tear fall, though, turning his head back around to stare out the window, trying to focus on something aside from his wound.

Norman didn’t try to talk to him any more than that, and Shaun was dozing off in the backseat by the time they reached the emergency room. Norman parked the car, glancing from the kid to Blake. “I’ll bring him in first. Then I’ll help you again. That okay?” His voice was softer than normal, his tone gentle.

"Yeah," he grunted. He'd put a hand against his side, both stemming the blood flow and testing the sensitivity. It had slowed down, but it was deep enough to still be bleeding freely.

Norman was in and out within ten minutes. Someone on the force had evidently already alerted the hospital that Shaun Mars was likely coming in, and they were able to take him in very quickly, assuring Norman they’d contact the boy’s parents. He only went back out when he was sure Shaun was taken care of, heading to the passenger side door and opening it. “You ready?”

"Yeah," he said again, sitting up and trying to pretend as though his head wasn't spinning. He was beginning to wonder if some minor artery hadn't been torn, and that was why he'd bled so much.

Norman helped him up and inside, bringing him to the counter to talk to the receptionist. She already knew the situation from what he’d explained when bringing in Shaun, and was quickly able to get a nurse to bring Blake to a room.

"Why?" Blake asked once they were alone in the room, voice rough and quiet. His bleeding had been staunched, stitched and bandaged, and he had an IV hooked up to his arm.

“Why what?” Norman was sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed, heart still racing slightly faster than usual.

"Why aren't you with Mars?" It wasn't what he originally intended to ask, but the words were too soft and he couldn't bring himself to say them.

“His parents were there.” Norman answered simply, with a shrug. Blake looked so vulnerable like this, oddly handsome without his usual angry expression. Not that he normally wasn’t handsome. Not that Norman found him handsome at all. He quickly pushed away that train of thought. “Kid doesn’t even know me. Doesn’t need me intruding.”

"Why haven't you been dismissed yet? Doesn't Washington need you?" He tried a sneer, but either his heart wasn't in it or the drugs they had given him dulled his expressions as well as the pain.

“Blake. It’s not even been a fucking day since I found the killer.” Norman sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He didn’t want to argue with Blake right now. He also didn’t want to explain that he’d gone and contacted his superiors while Blake was being taken care of, had asked for them to come up with a reason for him to work in Philadelphia a little longer. To ‘keep an eye out’ or some shit.

The killer. Back to the killer, and the reason Blake felt like shit. A shitty ass police lieutenant, that's what he was. Couldn't even see what was right under his nose. Blake sighed, gazing up at the pristine white ceiling. A small, grainy television on the opposite wall played some hockey game he wasn't a fan of, and the tinny sound from the speakers was grating. Somewhere on the other side of the curtain, another patient was groaning in pain. Blake hated hospitals.

"Is Scott in custody?" he asked, knowing the answer but still needing the verbal confirmation.

“Yeah.” Norman nodded. “Don’t know much about it though, haven’t exactly had the time to go stop by the station.” He’d been with Blake the whole damn time, except for his brief hallway phone call.

"Oh." He shut his mouth and decided to ignore Norman. He wasn't entirely sure why he was here, let alone why he had been here the whole time. He couldn't say he didn't appreciate it, given that nobody else seemed to want to visit, but he and Jayden hated each other. The fact that he'd sit here now, keeping a worried eye on him, was strange and even unnerving.

“I can leave, if you want.” Norman said quietly after a while of sitting in silence. “Check on the station and stuff. I was just worried...” he trailed off.

"Yeah," Blake said, the word rushing out of him. "I'm tired, anyways..." He looked at Jayden, and made the mistake of meeting his eyes. He looked drawn and exhausted, face pale.

Norman nodded, hesitating for a moment before slowly standing up. “Okay. I’ll... I’ll see you later, I guess.” He shrugged, turning to walk away. He glanced back at Blake when he reached the door, pausing again, but ultimately left the room and let the door close behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Ms. Jayden was a sweet lady of 54, a single mother and a third grade teacher. She’d raised Norman all by herself, supported him through his childhood and teenage years and many years of university, had gone to every debate club and mock trial meet he’d been part of in high school and to every parents weekend in college. She’d done every single thing she could for her son and loved him unconditionally along the way, so of course she picked up on the second ring to enthusiastically greet him when he called her the day after she saw on the news that the Origami Killer was caught. 

“Hey, ma.” He greeted, his tiredness evident in his voice. “How’s it been? How’re the boys?”

"Hi, Norm. It's nice to hear from you." She smiled and shifted the phone to her shoulder, setting the last of the freshly-washed dishes in the drainer. "They're lovely as always. It rained yesterday, so I took them outside for a bit. I think they're missing you."

“Oh, they must’ve loved that.” Norman said fondly, imagining his mom standing outside in her little yard with a ton of frogs. “I miss them too. And you, of course... I may be in Philly a bit longer though.”

"Oh?" She frowned, taking the phone in hand again. "Is something the matter, sweetheart? I saw you caught that killer, did something happen?"

“I... kind of?” Norman sighed, sitting down on the hotel bed. “I asked to stay for longer. I don’t know why, I just. I want to. There’s- I don’t know, ma, I’ve been feeling odd lately.”

"Oh, honey, are you sick? Do you need me to come? I have some sick days, and Judy in the office owes me a favor, I can call in and be right down to you tomorrow."

“No, mom, not- not that kind of odd.” Norman let out a soft laugh. Leave it to his mom to offer to drive to fucking Philadelphia to care for her adult son. “I mean, emotionally? I think.”

"Oh," she said, frowning deeper. She bustled off to the frog room, pushing the door open and stepping inside, sitting down amongst the frogs and their kiddie pools so Norman could hear their gentle ribbiting. "Do you want to talk about it?"

“Yeah, I think so.” He smiled a little at the frog sounds in the background of the call. “I work with this guy here. His name’s Carter Blake, he’s a police lieutenant. He’s kind of an ass, but we had a thing, I think?”

"That sort of thing?" She held a hand out to a frog, helping it up the ramp into the kiddie pool. "Norm, honey, why didn't you tell me sooner? I'd like to meet him."

“No, not... he’s straight, but we messed around in my office. Twice. I feel weird whenever I see him, like my chest gets all right and my gut gets twisty. It’s weird.” Norman blurted out, feeling his cheeks flush.

"Honey..." she said with a knowing lilt to her voice. "You have a crush. And how do you know he's straight, if you've... done things?"

“He mocks me for being gay. He told the receptionist, and the whole precinct found out.” Norman said with a groan. “And he leaves. Both times we messed around, he left me after.”

"I see." Ms Jayden sighed. She gave a passing frog a gentle stroke. "Are you sure you don't want me to come?" It wouldn't be the first boy she'd sorted out for her Norm.

“No, I just don’t know what to do, ma.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I asked to stay longer in Philadelphia because of him. I like seeing him, but he hates me. He thinks I’m gross. I guess I do have a.. a crush, or whatever. I almost let the killer go to save him.”

"But you caught your killer, and I presume saved him as well? He's probably very grateful. Have you seen him since?"

“In the hospital. He got grazed by a bullet. I was gonna stay with him, but he asked me to leave.” Norman sighed. “I’m really never gonna find anyone, am I? Can never fall for the right guy.”

"Oh, sweetie, don't say that. It's nothing you're doing wrong, and you can't rush love. Who knows, Norm? Give this some more time, see what happens. You've only been there for a week, after all. Something might develop," she said, soothingly.

“If he stops messing with me and abandoning me after, maybe. It hurts. It guess it was fine the first time, but the second time he just looked at me and walked out. I felt... really bad. Sick, almost.” He admitted.

"Then, maybe what's best would be to distance yourself." She let out a soft sigh. "I'm sorry, Norm. I wish I could give better advice, but it's tough when I've never met the man."

“It’s okay, ma. You never needed a man anyway. You did just fine on your own. I guess I can too.” He shrugged, though she couldn’t see it.

"Oh, sweetheart, that's not true. Once I had you, you were all I ever needed to be happy. As long as you were happy..." Ms Jayden sighed. "I love you, Norm. Your mama wants to see you happy, okay? So don't think like that."

“I have the frogs.” He said, sighing. “They make me happy. And I like my job most of the time. I just... I haven’t had a crush in a while, and of course it’s on the wrong guy.”

"Well, Norm, it has only been a week. How long will they let you stay? Maybe he just needs more time?" she suggested.

“He hates me. How do I even undo that?” And he was straight, but Norman didn’t feel a need to mention that again.

"Honey. If you've messed around, then he doesn't hate you. Men are complicated beasts, Norm, he's likely confused. Maybe he's always thought he's straight, and doesn't know how to deal with what he's feeling for you."

“I doubt it.” Norman let out a soft, sad little laugh. “It was probably a power thing for him. Or intimidation. Whatever. Put the FBI guy in his place.”

"Oh, sweetheart. Just give it some more time, okay? Try to talk to him." She adopted a more playful tone. "If not, I'll have to come up there and talk to him myself."

“I don’t need him scared out of the country.” Norman teased back. He knew his mom could be tough. He was pretty sure she was the reason an ex of his had moved to a different state a few years back.

"Then you'd better talk to him." One of the frogs let out a deafening ribbit, leaping right over her outstretched leg to tackle another frog. "Hey! Carlisle! Get off of Henry! That's not nice! Norm, they're fighting!"

“Just put them in separate pools. You know how Carlisle is. He can be a brat.” Norman let out a huff of laughter. “I hope they haven’t given you too much trouble these past few days.”

"Oh no, sweetie, of course not. It's always a pleasure," she said, scooping up the frogs and separating them. "He doesn't like you, Carlisle, you'd better just leave him alone."

“Aw, poor thing.” Norman laughed again. “Gosh, I miss them. Slimy little guys.” He sighed.

"I can take them to visit," she suggested. "When I come to give this man a piece of my mind."

“Ma!” Norman exclaimed. “You can’t come to Philly to yell at him!” He laughed, shaking his head. He did love her, and it would be nice to see her again.

"I can, and I will! I'm getting in the car right now," she said, lifting her chin. The frogs ribbited again, chorusing around the room.

“Ma, I can hear the boys!” He laughed. “I know you’re in the room with the frogs!”

"Well," she huffed. "You know I won't come up there unless you want me to. I get it. You don't want your poor old mother embarrassing you at work."

“Mom! You know that’s not it. You know I think you’re cool.” He insisted, glancing over at the clock. “Oh fu- sorry ma. I’ve got work. I wasn’t paying attention to the time. I’ll call you another time, yeah?”

"Of course, baby. I love you. Stay safe, make good decisions." She pulled the phone away from her ear and let him disconnect first while the frogs hopped around.

“Love you too.” He replied, listening to the frogs for a few moments before hanging up. It was always so nice talking to his mother, but... it wouldn’t do to come in late to work. He was already dressed, thankfully, and only had to throw on his jacket and grab his keys before heading out. 

Blake would probably be back by now. He’d only needed a few stitches and some blood, but he was dramatic, so Norman wasn’t sure. He contemplated it on his drive to the precinct and as he walked in, his gaze scanned the room to check.

Blake wasn't there. His desk was empty, and as Norman walked to his office, Perry emerged from his own. "Jayden. We don't have an assignment for you, so..." He shrugged. "Stay, go, whatever the fuck you want. You're off today."

Norman’s brows furrowed. “But I thought-“ he cut himself off. Whatever. It didn’t matter if he thought he was working, Perry never gave a shit about what he said. “Alright. Is Blake still in the hospital?”

"Nah, he's home. Why, you wanna make a house call? I have shit for him," Perry said, half-joking and half-serious.

“Sure.” Norman offered with a shrug. “What do you need to get to him? And what’s the address?”

"Paperwork wrapping up the case. I think his address is on that envelope there?" Perry handed a stack of papers to him, a single envelope balanced on top.

“Alright. I’ll bring it over.” Norman grabbed it, glancing down at the pile. Sure enough, there was an address on the top envelope. “Glad I don’t have to do this work.”

"I'm sure he'll whine you into doing it," Perry chuckled. He headed back to his office without so much as a goodbye.

Norman sighed, turning and heading out to his car. He placed the papers down on the passenger seat, plugging the address into his GPS and heading there.

Blake was lounging on his sofa when there was a knock on the door. "Come in," he drawled, figuring it was Perry with his paperwork.

“Got work to do, Blake.” Norman announced as he walked in. “A good amount of it too-“ He cut off when he saw the lieutenant, in only his boxers on the couch, feeling his cheeks heat and his heart rate pick up. “Yeah. Paperwork.” He repeated. Blake was muscular- it wasn’t that Norman didn’t already know it, but he’d never really got a good look before. And he could see the outline of his cock through his boxers. He quickly looked away.

"Jayden?" He glanced over in shock, sitting halfway up. He propped himself on his arm. "Well, come on then. Bring over that lapdesk, won't you?" He had one sitting on his table, just so far out of reach, and he didn't want to get up.

“Uh-“ He wanted to be on his lap instead of the desk. He quickly pushed the thought away and moved to grab it. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. Lapdesk.”

He stretched a hand out to take it as Norman drew near. "Thanks," he said, laying back against his pillow and scooting his legs up into a comfortable position. "Here, sit down."

“Uh... next to you?” Norman asked awkwardly. Obviously he wasn’t offering his lap, but it was a surprise in and of itself that he wasn’t being told to leave.

"Yeah? Or the floor, I guess? Wherever you want." He shrugged and picked up the first paper, scanning over it with a sigh.

“Okay.” Norman stood there for another minute, looking anywhere but at Blake, before finally moving to sit down next to him. “How are you feeling?”

"Like shit," he grumbled. "I'm in fucking pain, I'm horny, I keep tearing the stitches whenever I move..."

Norman swallowed thickly. He could help with that. He could climb onto Blake’s lap and ride him, and then he wouldn’t have to exert himself and tear open the stitches again. “Yeah, that sucks.” He said instead of voicing any of the thoughts running through his head, shifting slightly in his seat. His cock gave a half-hearted twitch.

"You ever been shot, Jayden?" he asked, flipping the paper over and signing where was required.

“No, thank god.” Norman admitted, mind still wandering into places it shouldn’t have been. “Hey, do you have a bathroom?”

"Yeah, down the hall to the left," he said, waving a hand in the general direction. "Next to the bedroom."

“Thanks.” Norman stood slightly awkwardly, turning away quickly to head to the bathroom. His dick was half-hard, and he didn’t need Blake to notice.

He was at Blake’s house, with a horny and half naked Blake on the couch. Of course he was getting hard. He could imagine that cock in his ass or his mouth... or being on that bed...

His gaze flickered to the open door of Blake’s bedroom. That was a big fucking bed for one man, and it also seemed he’d never heard of a laundry hamper from the way his floor looked. He didn’t want to snoop, but...

Blake's laptop sat shut on the bed, sheets wrinkled all around with the comforter tossed back, like it had been kicked in sleep. A heavy lump laid underneath the curve of the sheets.

Norman couldn’t help but be curious. He quietly walked up to the bed, thankful for the carpet cushioning the sounds of his footsteps. He lifted the sheets, immediately dropping them when he saw what was underneath. 

A fleshlight. Blake had a fucking pocket pussy. Norman felt his face flush, glancing behind him. He had to know what was on the laptop. He had to know what Blake was watching when he’d used that. Creeping closer to the bed, he quietly opened it. 

Password. Right. Fuck. Norman sighed quietly, staring at the screen. CarterBlake? No. Fuck? No. Fuckingpassword? No again. He was growing increasingly anxious and irritated with each mistake, trying to think of things Blake might use. Omelettes?

The password was fucking omelettes, and the computer loaded up to the webpage Blake had forgotten to close. A search for ‘cop fucks twink gay porn’. Norman’s heartrate skyrocketed and he quickly shut the laptop again and rushed from the room to the bathroom, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. 

Holy fuck. Blake was watching gay porn. He was getting off to watching guys fuck other guys, in the privacy of his own home, which meant he had to at least be somewhat attracted to men. So he wasn’t totally straight? Norman’s cock throbbed in his pants and he let out a quiet, aggravated sound.

Blake glanced towards the hallway. He was taking a long ass time in the bathroom, but who knows. Maybe he had to shit. He looked back at his papers, finishing the one he was on before looking back up. "Jayden! You taking a dump or what?" he called.

“Just had to, uh, call my mom!” Norman yelled back. That was a lie and Blake would probably realize it. Unless he thought he was whispering into the phone. In the bathroom. He cursed quietly to himself, begging his erection to fuck right off.

"Your fucking mom?" Blake echoed quietly. He shook his head. "Jayden, get the fuck out here! You're helping me, you cunt!"

Norman groaned loudly in annoyance, taking another few short moments before leaving the bathroom, walking a little awkwardly to try and hide the very visible bulge in the front of his pants. “Helping you with what? It’s not my work.”

"Oh, I'm sorry. Didn't you say you caught the Origami Killer?" he teased. "So really, this should be your work. Bitch."

“I didn’t come here to do your paperwork.” Norman huffed, sitting down next to him.

"No, you came to take a shit and call your mom," he snorted. He gave him a cursory glance. "Your mom must be hot, Jayden," he said, eyeing the bulge in his pants.

“I-“ Norman cut off, his face flushing bright red. “Fuck off, Blake! Don’t say that shit. I wasn’t calling my mom, okay?”

"Yeah, no shit. I'd have some fucking questions if you were. So?" He raised an eyebrow, smirking at him.

“So what?” He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking anywhere but at Blake. He wasn’t about to tell him he’d walked in, seen the outline of his dick, thought about riding him, and had been hard ever since.

"So. Why? Are you just always horny?" He shifted his own hips, forcefully reminded of Norman's lips on his cock, his ass tight around him.

“I’m not always horny!” Norman insisted. “I just- it doesn’t matter. You’ll just mock me no matter what I say anyway.”

Blake sat up, grunting as his muscles shifted. "Nah, Jayden, tell me. You got me curious now."

“You said you were horny. And I could practically see your dick through your boxers.” Norman admitted, still not looking at him, cheeks flushing even darker. “And you asked me to bring over the lap desk. For your lap. An’ all I can fuckin’ think of is sitting where the fucking desk is and riding you.” He looked annoyed, then mortified, then held a hand up to his face and groaned. He shouldn’t have fucking said that.

Blake stared at him for a moment. Then he pushed the lap desk to the floor, papers scattering, and he spread his legs to form an inviting seat. The outline of his cock was stiffened, more pronounced in his boxers. He gazed at him coolly, not saying a word.

Norman looked up at the noise, glancing at Blake’s crotch then back at his face. So much for listening to his mom’s advice to make good decisions. He stood up, fumbling to pull off his stupid fucking dress pants, before moving to climb eagerly onto Blake’s lap. He let out a satisfied hiss when the bulge in his boxers ground against Blake’s.

Blake grabbed him by the hips. "Look at you, you're so fucking hard." He brushed his hand over Norman's clothed erection, feeling the heat of it against his hand. "You want this bad, huh Jayden?"

Norman gasped, hips jerking a little. “Yes. Yes, fuck.” He nodded. He wanted Blake inside him bad.

"Tell me what you want," he purred, sliding his hands up Norman's hips. "Maybe I'll let you have it."

“Already told you.” Norman shivered a little at the feeling of Blake’s hands on him. “I wanna ride you.”

"Get to work then, Jayden." He rolled his hips upward, letting Jayden get a feel of his hard cock. "I'm hurt, remember? You're gonna have to get us both off."

“I don’t suppose you have any lube lying around?” Norman asked, fumbling to remove his jacket and shirt.

"Bedroom. Nightstand drawer," he said, reluctant to take his hands off Norman's body. He was lithe and soft, all pale skin and lean muscle, and he wanted to take him apart.

“That’s so damn far.” Norman groaned, rolling his hips as he tossed his shirt to the floor. “Don’t keep any on the couch for convenience?”

He shook his head ruefully. Normally yes, but not since his sister had come by and cleaned up the place while he was in the hospital. "Be quick?"

“Yeah, okay.” Norman nodded, climbing off his lap and heading down the hall to the bedroom. He opened the drawer, finding a little squeeze bottle of lube and carrying it back out to the living room, stepping out of his boxers so he wouldn’t have to squirm out of them later and settling back on Blake’s lap.

"Want my cock in that tight little ass of yours?" he growled, grabbing said ass in his hands. "Fuck, Jayden, look at you. First time I've seen you in decent lighting. Fucking gorgeous."

Norman’s face flushed, and he felt his heart do a weird little flip. Carter Blake called him gorgeous. “You’re not so bad yourself.” He said with a little smirk. “Now are you gonna help, or am I gonna have to finger myself?”

"Jeez Jayden, you know I'm hurt right? I think I might just have to watch you do it." He gave him a rude little grin, definitely preferring to sit back and watch Norman fuck himself open on his own hand.

Norman rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna see much with me on your lap like this.” He opened the bottle, drizzling some of the lube onto his fingers.

"Move your hips then, let me see." He nudged him backwards, trying to coax Norman to angle his hips upwards.

“How do you expect me to hold myself up at that kind of angle?” Norman raised an eyebrow.

"You've got two arms, don't ya?" He leaned himself back on one, hiking one leg up to demonstrate. Then he winced, putting a hand to his bandages. "Whatever works for you, Jayden, I don't give a shit."

Norman huffed, vaguely annoyed, resting one hand behind him on Blake’s thigh and reaching the other hand back as well, fingers circling his hole. He looked at Blake, cheeks flushed, a soft sound escaping him as he began to push the first finger in.

"Look at you," Blake murmured. His gaze was dark and lustful. "Fucking tease, that's what you are." He wanted to touch Jayden, but the sight of him spreading himself had Blake's cock twitching in his boxers and it was too good to interrupt.

“Oh I’m sorry, you want me to take you dry and unprepared?” Norman raised his brows again, but his jokingly annoyed expression changed as he began trying to slide in a second finger.

"Nah, I like the show." He watched hungrily as Norman teased the second finger, glistening with lubricant, his other finger sliding lewdly inside himself.

Norman lifted his hips a little, but it still wasn’t the best angle for Blake to see. He let out a soft gasp, squirming just a tiny bit as he twisted them deeper inside himself.

"You're gonna need more than two, baby..." Blake watched Norman's muscles twitch and stretch around the movement of his fingers, stroking his own cock over the fabric of his underwear.

Norman shivered and practically purred at the pet name. He nodded, lips parted as he began to carefully work in a third finger.

"You're sucking those right in, fuck," he breathed. He scratched his nails lightly up the length of his clothed erection, hissing a moan through his teeth and rolling his hips again.

“Gonna be sucking your cock in soon.” Norman gasped, twisting them in deeper and curling them upward. His cock twitched, precome beading at the slit.

"Fuck yeah, baby. Spreading your pretty little ass open for my cock," he muttered. He grabbed his cock and pulled it free from his boxers, giving himself a firm stroke.

He moaned again at the feeling of his fingers and the use of the pet name. “Almost ready, almost there.” He promised.

Blake reached for the bottle of lubricant, slicking up his cock. He grabbed Norman's thigh with his free hand, gently tugging his legs further apart so he could see better. "Fuck..."

Norman finally pulled out his fingers, hole clenching around nothing, and carelessly wiped them on Blake’s boxers. He lifted himself up, lining himself up with Blake’s cock, the head rubbing against his hole.

Blake took him by the waist, letting his hands rest uselessly on his skin. Norman was slim and soft, so damned pretty. It was hard to believe he was a federal agent. "You gotta fuck yourself on my dick?" he murmured, gazing up at him.

Norman said nothing, corners of his lips twitching up into a little smirk. He began lowering himself, the expression quickly changing to one of concentration as the head slipped past his rim, stretching him open.

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight," Blake cursed, watching his cock sink gradually into Norman. It was taking everything out of him to not buck his hips and thrust up into him, but he wanted to let Norman do the work.

“It’s- fuck-“ Norman shifted to move both arms behind him, resting them on Blake’s thighs as he slowly finished lowered himself down until he was sat on his lap with his cock buried all the way inside of him. He felt so fucking full.

"How's it feel? My dick stretching you open like that..." He gave Norman the teeniest, teasing little movement of his hips, just enough to slide his dick along inside him.

Norman gasped, eyes rolling back slightly. “Gimme a second to adjust, you’re fuckin’ big.” He demanded.

Blake smirked. "Take whatever time you need, babe," he said, ego properly stroked.

Norman squirmed a little, trying to adjust to the stretch. He’d taken it before, but that was a few days ago. After another few moments, he finally began to move, slowly lifting himself up so just the head was in him, then sliding back down to take it all the way with a low groan.

"Pretty little slut, that's what you are..." His hands lay on Norman's hips, guiding him as he moved. "You take cock like a champ, Jayden."

He began to find a steady pace, shifting to place his hands on Blake’s chest to stabilize himself as he rode him. It felt good, stupidly fucking good, fucking himself on Blake’s cock while he touched him, while he looked at him the in the way that he was.

"I wanna watch you cum," Blake groaned. "Watch you wreck yourself on my cock. You're fucking gorgeous."

His eyes rolled back now, speeding up as best he could, face flushing at the lewd, wet sounds it made each time he slid down. “Blake- fuck!”

"I love this tight little ass," he said, giving him a rough upward thrust as he gripped his ass in both hands.

“I feel so full.” Norman panted, cock twitching, precome dribbling down the length from the slit. If they kept up like this, he’d be coming soon. He clenched a little around his cock, moaning.

Blake sat halfway up, grinding his hips against Norman, trying to find his prostate. One hand stayed on Norman's ass, the other slid up to take his waist, and Blake let out another deep groan.

Norman cried out, back arching as the head of Blake’s cock hit against his prostate. “Not gonna last long like this, fuck!” He cursed, rolling his hips, now gazing down into Blake’s eyes, his own dark with lust.

"Go on, Jayden, cum for me..." he breathed, staring back up at him. "I want you screaming my name."

“Fuck, fuck-“ He gasped, letting go of his inhibitions as his orgasm approached. He leaned in, eyelids fluttering shut as he pressed his lips to Blake’s.

He could taste the memory of coffee on his lips, and the glaze of cherry chapstick he must have applied. Blake shoved him off, so hard Jayden slipped to the floor, and yelled at him. "What the fuck do you think this is, Jayden?"

Norman landed hard on his ass with a shout of pain at the impact and the sudden removal of Blake’s cock. What? What the fuck? “What the fuck do you mean?” He shouted back. Just seconds ago Blake had been calling him baby, and gorgeous.

"Get out!" he roared, stuffing his already softening cock back into his boxers. "Get the fuck out!"

“What the fuck, Blake?” Norman snapped back at him, stumbling to his feet and pulling his own clothes own as quickly as possible. “What’s your fucking problem?” It hurt. He was confused and fucking hurt.

"What's my problem?" he echoed, face contorted. "This is! You are! What are you still doing here, Jayden, get out!"

“You just shoved me off your dick and onto the fucking floor!” Norman grabbed his jacket, making sure he had his wallet and keys before putting it on.

Blake struggled up off the couch, stumbling once his feet hit the floor. He shoved Norman back, pointing towards the door. "You don't know how to listen, do you?" he snapped, leaning in within an inch of his face. "Get. The. Fuck. Out. Before I paint the walls with your fucking faggot brains, Jayden."

Norman stared back at him, eyes wide, frozen in silence for a moment before he snapped out of his. His brows furrowed, expression twisting into one of hurt and anger. He shoved Blake back, stumbling toward the door, pulling it open. As an afterthought, he turned for a moment. 

“Fine. Try not to get your sperm on the paperwork when you jerk off to your gay fucking cop porn.” He stepped out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Blake stared at the closed door for a long moment. "Shit," he said finally, wheeling away. "....Shit." He rubbed a hand over his face, glancing at the papers scattered all over his floor, and the bottle of lube that had spilled over it. "Fuck."


	6. Chapter 6

He curled up on top of the crisp hotel bedsheets, an empty vial of triptocaine laying next to him, some of the blue dust having spilt onto the duvet. His eyes were red-rimmed, puffy from crying. Fucking Blake. Stupid fucking Carter Blake. But no one was as stupid as Norman. God, what was he thinking? He really was just a convenient hole to fuck, with a few pretty features other than that. He felt sick. He should’ve known. Blake was straight, he mocked Norman for being gay, he spread it around the whole precinct. And Norman thought for a moment...

God, he was so stupid. He curled in on himself even smaller. His shoes were probably making the bed dirty, and his suit wasn’t all that comfortable, but he had broken down the second he got to his hotel room and he wasn’t about to get up and change. He reached for the half-empty vodka bottle sat on his nightstand, glad he’d grabbed it on his way to the bed, and took a large swig. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Some profiler he was. Couldn’t even read his own partner. 

Everything kept playing over in his head. Baby, gorgeous, pretty, babe. The way Blake had looked at him. The rage, the borderline hatred in his eyes when he’d shoved Norman away. Threatening to fucking kill him.

His heart hurt. It fucking ached, an unfamiliar feeling after so long. God, he’d fallen fast for the asshole lieutenant, for the worst possible fucking person he could’ve fell for. And it was the middle of the night, fucking midnight, and all he’d been doing was laying there snorting tripto and drinking vodka and dozing off into weird little dreams every so often. He had work tomorrow, where he’d have to see Carter Blake, to work with him, unless the bastard made up some shit to tell Perry to separate them. 

He was drunker than he could remember being any time in recent memory, and was sure to have a killer headache in the morning. He took another swig of vodka. Everything was blurry. He couldn’t read the numbers on the clock. Finally, his body gave in to exhaustion and he passed out on the bed. 

The next morning, Blake was absent from the station again. "Jayden! You'll be with Grisham today," he said, pointing to said detective. "Not sure why you're still here, but we may as well get some use out of you. There's been a murder, he's got the details."

Norman looked like absolute shit. As if he’d spent his whole night wide away smoking crack. Which wasn’t true, but close enough. He’s at least showered before coming in. He nodded at Perry in acknowledgment before heading over to Grisham’s desk. “What’re the details?”

"Suspected serial killer, it's the third body in two weeks, and the method is all the same. Each victim died by strangulation, each had defensive wounds on their hands. All males in their mid 20s to 30s, all engaging in homosexual relationships," Grisham rattled off, gathering up the car keys and his equipment.

Norman sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck. Alright, are these the first killings like this that we know of, just these ones in the past two weeks?”

"Yup." Grisham led him out the door to his car. "Each body was dumped in Dilworth Park, laid out on a rainbow flag."

“So someone’s buying a ton of rainbow flags just to dump bodies?” Norman’s brows furrowed. What the fuck? What kind of violently homophobic shit was this?

"Looks like it." Grisham shrugged, and shot Norman a sideways glance as he drove. "I'd lay low, if I were you."

Norman grit his teeth, crossing his arms. “Let’s keep personal shit out of this, yeah? My private life is of no concern to you or the case.”

"Not for now," he said, but didn't say anything more on the matter and they drove in tense silence until they reached the park.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Not for now? Norman kept the rest of his thoughts to himself, relieved when they finally reached the park and he was able to get out of the damn car.

The place was already crawling with people, the forensics team scouting for anything left behind. One girl stood over the body, snapping photos from every angle. Grisham didn't wait for Norman to get out of the car before he started walking over, but heard his footsteps behind him regardless. The victim was a young man with dirty blonde hair, laid on the flag with his arms crossed on his chest like he was set for his funeral. Dark purple bruises made a necklace around his throat, and his hands held a paper sign.

"Hey," the woman greeted as they joined her. 

"So?" Grisham barked, looking down at the body. The woman crouched, and Grisham and Norman both followed suit. 

"His fingernails are all broken, see?" she pointed without touching, and Grisham grimaced. 

"He tried to fight. And this is...?"

"Another one of his signs," she said, giving him a pointed look. "A little bit different this time."

In tall, spiked lettering the paper read 'With Love, I Return God's Mistakes'.

Norman’s brows furrowed, pulling out his ARI glasses and pulling on the glove. He didn’t exactly give a fuck if people thought it looked weird. He reached toward the note, scanning it for fingerprints, and found none. “We could check for DNA under the finger nails? Skin cells or somethin’? If he was able to scratch the killer hard enough, he may have taken some off. Maybe even gotten some blood.”

"The thing is," the woman said, brow furrowing, "we looked. And he must have cleaned his hands when he positioned him like this, cause there's nothing. He's the third one, and this guy's clean. He hasn't left a thing behind at any scene."

“We could track the flag...” Norman trailed off. No, that wouldn’t work. Surely the killer wouldn’t be stupid enough to buy all them from the same place. “Seems to be someone religious.”

"The last two notes were the same," Grisham mused, "but this one's different. I wonder why...?" Glancing at Norman, he added, "the last two both read 'I Send Thee Onward, O Sinful Fiend'. Definitely some homophobic, religious shit."

“Fuckin’ weird.” Norman murmured to himself. “Guess I could check out churches in the area, but that wouldn’t get me very far.”

Grisham stood and dusted himself off. "So, Jayden. What's with the sunglasses? It's cloudy as hell."

“Added Reality Interface.” Norman explained smoothly. It also covered his eyes, which were still slightly puffy and bloodshot and had bags beneath them. “Did any of the victims have serious significant others?”

"I'll pretend I know what the hell that means," Grisham chuckled. "Yes. The previous two had boyfriends. Our friend here reportedly was seeing someone, but not exclusively."

“That means the killer likely saw them with their boyfriends. Which means it likely wasn’t spurred on by rumors.” He gave Grisham a pointed look that he couldn’t see beneath the glasses. “And the multiple victims rules out a random crime of passion, some sort of jealousy or sudden hatred.”

"He's scouted them," Grisham agreed. "Which means he has a list of potential victims, and he probably knows their schedules."

“Do we know if these guys were out? Or if they kept their relationships hidden?” Norman wasn’t sure if anyone would know this shit, but he hadn’t exactly been given time to read up on the victims.

“Do we know if these guys were out? Or if they kept their relationships hidden?” Norman wasn’t sure if anyone would know this shit, but he hadn’t exactly been given time to read up on the victims.

"Uh..." Grisham and the woman exchanged looks. "No idea about this guy, but the first victim was closeted. Jona Moore. His family was shocked. Second guy was out, frequented the clubs downtown. Chris Pell."

“So that means the guy is looking into their private lives, or is connected to them in some way. That could help. Have we interviewed any of the boyfriends?” Norman pulled off and tucked away his glasses.

"Both of them. Not this guy's, yet. That'll be our job," Grisham said. He watched him slide the glasses away. "What, no 'added reality'?" he asked, throwing air quotes.

“There’s nothing I need to analyze at the current moment. I already checked the victim for evidence.” God, looking at the body was making him feel sick. He changed the subject from his glasses. “The killer doesn’t seem to have... his intent seems to be almost for what he sees as the good of the victims, judging by the notes. Sending them back to God, or whatever.” He wasn’t sure. The notes were odd, to say the least. “He’s very respectful of the corpses.”

"Once the sin is dead, the body is innocent," Grisham reasoned, shrugging. "Going off the notes and the presentation of the corpses, he has a deep respect for God and His creations, so it makes sense."

Norman nodded, straightening up and looking away. “I think we’ve done enough of staring at the man’s corpse.”

"Squeamish?" Grisham asked, raising a brow. Whereas Blake would have heckled him further, Grisham merely shrugged and headed back to the car.

“Not squeamish. Just don’t love staring at dead people.” Norman replied coldly, sliding into the passenger seat. “And there’s better things for us to be doing. Like interviewing the significant other.”

"Eager, hm?" He turned the key, letting the car rumble to life. "Let's get to it, then."

The victim's partner lived on the shabbier side of Philadelphia, in a rundown apartment with six locks on the door. They knew this because upon knocking, they heard each one be unlocked before the knob turned and a handsome young man appeared in the doorway.

"Can I help you?" he asked, eyes red-rimmed.

“Philadelphia police. We just wanted to talk to you.” Norman softened his tone and expression as he looked at him. Poor kid, young and obviously heartbroken, if his expression was anything to go by. “About your... friend.”

"My friend." He chuckled and looked down at his feet. "Yeah, my friend. Come in." He pulled the door open wider, letting them enter before pushing it shut again. He only redid one of the locks. 

"You've got a lot of those," Grisham remarked. 

"Yeah, well. Shitty part of town, you know." The man pulled chairs back from the table for them, heading over to his Keurig on the counter. "You guys want anything?"

Norman glanced at it. “Nah, I’m good. But thank you.” He wasn’t fully comfortable talking to the man with Grisham- someone who knew from experience to be homophobic- present, but he’d do his best.

"I'm good," Grisham said. The man shrugged and made himself a coffee before sitting down across from them. 

"I'm guessing you want to talk to me about Xander?" he sighed.

“You guessed correct.” Norman nodded. “We’re investigating it. I know you two were more than friends, but not exclusive?”

"We were seeing each other," he said. "But yeah, we weren't like, together. Not like that. I wasn't ready to settle down, and he was so patient with me. We'd both screw other people on the side but we'd go on dates and stuff. He liked to take me to the fancier places," he said, smiling at the memory. 

"Mark, right?" Grisham asked. He nodded. "How long were you with Xander?"

"Almost a year."

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Norman said gently. “How many people knew about the two of you? Was there many?”

"No, he wasn't out to his family. Just friends," Mark said. "So we didn't talk much about our relationship. My family isn't in Philly, I moved up here last year, so Xander and I had all the same friends."

“Would anyone have seen you two together, other than those friends?” Norman didn’t want to pressure the poor guy, but he needed to know. If the answer was no, it brought up the possibility that one of their friends could be or have connection to the killer, or that the killer could be some sort of stalker to see what people did in private.

"Well, like I said, Xander liked to go out to dinner. So I guess, anybody might have seen us out at at the restaurant. But we didn't kiss or hug or anything, not in public."

He nodded, glancing at Grisham. “I think that’s all for know, unless my partner has any more questions.”

"Do you remember anything out of the ordinary in the past few weeks? Anything at all?"

Mark paused, then shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm sorry."

Grisham stood. "If you remember, or think of anything at all, give me a call, okay?" He passed him a card, and looked at Jayden. They moved to the door, and he muttered, "Your fancy glasses. They sense things?"

“Sense things?” Norman’s brows furrowed. “They can find evidence and scan it, like fingerprints, tire tracks, hair, and other things. What do you mean by sense things?”

"I mean, put them on and take a look around. See if there's anything unusual," Grisham said, raising a brow like this should have been obvious.

“We don’t have a warrant to search his home.” Norman said in the same tone. “We’ll have to go back in and ask permission. But he didn’t go missing from the home, and that guy obviously isn’t the killer.”

"Still, if they were being stalked..." He tilted his head to one side, giving him a meaningful look. "It's not an illegal search if we're just looking."

“If we are going to look, we are going to turn around and ask him.” Norman replied coolly. Did everyone at this damn precinct break the law as much as possible?

"Fine," Grisham snapped, setting off down the path towards where his car waited. "Back to the station, then."

Norman hesitated, then decided to pull out his ARI anyway, holding out his hand and scanning the area. Nothing. Except... He walked toward the side of the house, where a pop-up was glowing, and knelt down. 

“Grisham!” He hollered. “Footprints!”

"Footprints?" he echoed, turning and following after him. He crouched beside him, tracing a finger along the dipped edge. They were sodden with rain, almost washed away in the mud. "How the hell did you see these, Jayden?" he asked with a newfound appreciation for the FBI's fancy equipment.

“With my ‘fancy glasses’.” Norman did air quotes with his ungloved hand, his tone slightly annoyed. “They’re size twelve, men’s, the pattern of the treads seems like the type to belong to work boots.”

"Definitely not our friend inside then," Grisham remarked. "I'll check what size the victim wore when we get back." He glanced around. "Anything else?" he asked eagerly.

“Nothin’.” Norman sighed. “Absolutely nothing else. Let’s get going. He took off the glasses and glove with another sigh, tucking them away.

They drove back to the station, Grisham steeling numerous glances over to Norman. "What else do those things do?" he asked after several minutes.

“Store files and evidence, they can take videos and photos and analyze them, they have access to certain parts of FBI databases...” He paused, thinking. “Games.”

"Games?" Grisham latched onto the most interesting thing. "They have you pampered with that shit, holy shit. Maybe I should join the feds."

Norman let out a dry laugh. If he wanted hallucinations and drug addiction, sure. “Sorry, but they don’t let you break the law whenever you please.” He said coldly.

"No? I seem to recall you putting those glasses on anyways, after all the complaints," Grisham retorted. He turned down a side street, taking a short cut back to the station.

“We were outside. Not in his damn home.” Norman snapped back, getting sick of this bullshit. Sick of Philadelphia and its crooked, homophobic, shithead cops.

"Well I wasn't asking you to snoop around the house!" Grisham shook his head, stepping a little heavier on the gas. He was sick of being in the car with this uptight little fucker.

“Well that’s what it fuckin’ sounded like you were askin’!” Norman snapped again. He was so annoyed. He regretted asking for an extension of his stay in Philadelphia.


	7. Chapter 7

Blake hated feeling conflicted. Jayden's closed door was a clear sign to the world to stay out, but all he could think of was when he found him bleeding from the eyes in there. What if that happened again? Why did he even care? What did Jayden mean to him, besides being a half-decent detective and a tight hole to fuck? He scratched that last thought out of his head; he and Jayden wanted nothing to do with each other, never had and never would again, and whatever had happened between them was a mistake, however brief it may have been. Frankly, the memory of Jayden's lips on his was revolting. That tab on his laptop was gone, wiped from the search history, and it would stay that way, as far as he was concerned. 

Grisham was humming away at his desk beside Blake's, tapping on his keyboard. "Think they'll keep you with Jayden?" he asked, keeping a certain air of nonchalance in his voice. 

"Probably. Perry hasn't said anything about switching, and it's my case, so." Grisham shrugged. "If he's half as efficient with this as he was with the Origami Killer, we'll be done and he'll be on his way back to Washington in no time."

"Hopefully," Blake muttered, eager for this whole thing to be behind him. "I dunno why he's still here, anyways. We don't need him."

Grisham shrugged again. "Whatever. It's not like we're paying him. He can stay in his office for all I care, so long as he does his work and fucks off."

"Yeah," Blake muttered, glancing again at the closed office door. What the hell did he even do in there, with no computer?

It was early afternoon, but with very little to go on and a still lingering headache- not to mention the dull ache in his chest- Norman wasn’t feeling in the mood to stick around. He went to Captain Perry’s office to tell him he was heading out a few hours early and then left without so much as a glance toward Blake’s desk. It wasn’t like anyone could stop him from leaving, he wasn’t exactly under any of their supervision. His bosses were in Washington, not Pennsylvania. 

He got in his car, driving alone to a bar close to the hotel he was stationed at. It was a walkable distance if need be. He parked, getting out, and heading inside in hopes no one he knew would be there. He quickly pushed the thought away as bullshit- everyone he knew around this damn city was from the station, and they weren’t gonna be day drinking.

That was too much to hope for. He had barely made it three steps through the door before an all too familiar voice was calling out in sheet euphoria.

"Norman! Oh goodness it's Norman! Norman, over here!" Charlene was waving frantically at him from a corner booth, surrounded by three other middle aged ladies. All four of them had mimosas, and a basket of french fries sat between them.

Norman sighed quietly but forced a smile, walking over to their table. “Oh, hey Charlene! I didn’t see you at the precinct, I guess I know why now.”

“Is he the agent you said started at work recently?” One of the ladies asked, looking at Charlene then smiling warmly at Norman.

"Yes, this is Norman Jayden! From the FBI!" she said in a loud stage whisper, giggling helplessly afterwards. Four mimosas down and counting, she was tipsy. "Norman, sweetie, sit down!" She scooted over to make room for him. "You know, Blake told me your situation," she said, giving him a meaningful look.

Norman tilted his head. “Situation?” His eyes went a little wide. Blake told her they fucked? He didn’t think it was the fact that Blake had already admitted to telling Charlene he was gay. Being gay wasn’t a situation.

"Oh, sweetheart don't be embarrassed! I've got a gay cousin, Carol Anne here's got a gay cousin." Carol Anne nodded sagely, nibbling a french fry. "We've all got gay cousins, it's hip! It's normal!" Charlene waved a dismissive hand. "Excuse me for being nosy, but I have to ask! Do you have a boyfriend?"

Norman’s cheeks went red. “Oh, it’s... no.” He knew Charlene meant well, he couldn’t be angry with her. “You know, working all the time, makes it kind of hard to find someone.” He let out a soft laugh. 

“Oh, you’ll find someone who doesn’t mind that you’re busy!” Another lady at the table piped up. “My husband, Charles, he’s always been a busy man, but I’ve always loved him all the same! Schedule doesn’t bother me.”

"Get yourself out there!" encouraged another lady. Charlene patted Norman on the shoulder, sipping her mimosa. Her cheeks were rosy, eyes bright. 

"The right man is out there somewhere, Norman! You've just gotta go find him!"

“Maybe someday.” He shrugged. “I’m more focused on my career than finding anyone right now, really.” 

“Oh honey, that’s okay. You take your time.” The lady married to Charles said. “I’m Elizabeth, by the way, but you can call me Betty.”

The lady between Carol Anne and Betty lifted her hand in a little wave. "I'm Kirstie," she said. "It's such a pleasure to meet you, Norman!"

“Nice to meet you too, Kirstie. And you, Betty.” He smiled softly at the both of them. The server came over, noticing a new person, and he ordered a vodka soda. The ladies all got refills on their mimosas.

"Tell us about things, Norman!" Charlene said, nudging his shoulder with her own. "Tell us everything! What's the FBI like? Your family, friends? Love life?"

“Oh god, that’s a lot.” He laughed, smiling down at the table. “Okay, well, the FBI I can’t tell you much about. Classified stuff, you know?” He looked back up at her. “Family though, I’ve just got my mom. And my frogs.”

"Ooh, tell us about your frogs!" Carol Anne cried, leaning in. 

"Do they have names?" Charlene asked. "I like frogs. You have pics of them, right?"

“I don’t have many good photos, just ones on my phone. There’s twelve of them, all boys.” He perked up a bit at their interest. “They’re all leopard frogs, they’re semi-aquatic.” He explained.

"Leopard frogs! They sound fancy!" Charlene gushed. "Did you bring them with you from Washington?"

“No, that’d be too hard.” Norman laughed. “They’re home with my mom. They love her.”

The server came back over with their drinks, and they all thanked him. Norman took a sip of his, cherishing the slight burn of the alcohol and the bubbliness of the soda.

The ladies all cheered with the arrival of their new mimosas, clinking their glasses together. Charlene tapped hers against Norman's with a playful wink. "We also make wishes when we toast. Make a wish, Norman!"

“I already sipped mine!” Norman said playfully, but tapped his glass against hers anyway. What was he gonna wish for? Something about... Blake... no. For his frogs to be happy. Sure. That was simple, easy.

"What'd you wish for, Charlie?" Carol Anne giggled, sipping her mimosa with her pinky finger sticking out. 

"Oh, you know I can't tell you, you bad girl!" Charlene squealed, flapping her hand. She nudged her shoulder against Norman's again, throwing him a sloppy sideways wink. "It was for you, Norman."

“Oh gosh, thanks Charlene.” He took another sip of his vodka, cheeks now just tinted pink. 

“Charlene’s wishes are lucky!” Betty exclaimed. “Back when we were young girls, she and I went out one night and I met my husband! She told me she’d wished earlier for me to find ‘the one’!”

"You'll find the one soon too, then!" Kirstie agreed, cheeks flushed with her sixth mimosa. "It's just a matter of time, sweetheart!"

“I don’t think I’ll have much luck in Philly.” He admitted with a shrug. Especially not with Blake hanging around in his head.

"Oh, you never know. I think somebody in the office has his eye on you," Charlene said, draining the last few drops of her mimosa.

"Oooh! Who is it?" Carol Anne shrieked, stuffing a fry in her mouth, staring at Charlene.

"Oh, no, I'm not supposed to say anything! I'm just guessing anyways," Charlene cried, flustered.

Norman let out a bit of a dry laugh. He didn’t want to be mean to the ladies, and he didn’t want to ruin the mood with his moping either. “Eh, you’re about the only person in the office who can even tolerate me, Charlene.” He grinned a little bit.

"Well, they're guys. You know how guys are, sweetie. One man says something and they all rally, especially when there's an outsider involved." She gave him an apologetic look. "Unfortunately, you're the outsider right now. But give it some time, and they'll come around. I promise."

“I don’t have a lot of time to give. I’ll probably be going back home after this case I’m working on now.” He explained, taking a larger sip of his drink.

"Oh no! No, that's too soon!"

"Yeah!" Kirstie wailed. "We've only just met you! We haven't gotten all our Norman time in yet!"

Norman let out a more genuine laugh at that, smiling at Kirstie. “I’m not that exciting, don’t worry. You aren’t missing much.”

"Don't listen to him, he's the most interesting person at the station by far!" Charlene gushed. 

"Do you have any cool FBI stories you could tell us?" Carol Anne asked, munching on another french fry.

“Not much I can say that isn’t classified, sadly.” Norman shrugged. “My main thing is psychology. I’m a profiler.”

"Aw, boo!" Betty pouted. "That's no fun. I work an office job, so I don't have any fun stories."

"Me either," Carol Anne pouted.

“There’s nothing exciting in the office?” Norman grinned at them. “No office gossip or anything at all?”

"Welll," Betty drawled. "Tom and Cathleen definitely have a thing going, but they don't want anybody to know. They're not good at hiding it. And Linda just got a boob job and thinks nobody can tell? Please," she said, rolling her eyes.

Norman actually laughed at that, shaking his head. “Sounds like there’s lots of secrets but everyone’s bad at hiding them, huh?”

"Ooh, yeah. Carter's got a crush, I think. He's been so distracted lately, you know?"

"Carter's Blake, right? That grumpy lieutenant?" Kirstie asked. She wrinkled her nose. "I feel sorry for whoever it is."

Norman felt like someone had just jabbed something into his chest. He took a deep breath, keeping the grin on his face as best he could. “Yeah, I can’t imagine him ever liking someone.“

"No, he does! He definitely does!" Charlene insisted. "When you've known somebody that long, you can tell."

“Only thing he likes is beating people up.” Norman shrugged, finishing off his drink. He didn’t want to think about Blake or about how the man made him feel.

Charlene frowned. "No, he likes dogs too. And ferrets." She twirled her finger around the rim of the mimosa glass, gazing wistfully at the final stubborn drop inside. "And beer, of course," she added after a moment.

“Of course he’s a beer guy.” Norman snorted, rolling his eyes. “Dogs, though? Really? Does he have one? Seems more like the type to hate all animals.”

"No, his dog died last year and he hasn't had the heart to get another one," Charlene said quietly. "She was a cocker spaniel. Fawn."

“Oh.” Norman’s grin dropped. “Poor pup. I’ve always liked dogs, but frogs are more my speed.” He looked down at his glass. The atmosphere at the table felt suddenly tense.

Carol Anne cleared her throat. "Well! I think we call it at six?" She gave Norman a bright smile, scooting from the booth. "It's on me today, girls. I'll see you next week! It was lovely to meet you, Norman!"

"Bye, Carol Anne!" they all chorused.

“Nice to meet you too.” He said warmly, waving at her. “Are you all heading out too?” He turned back to the ladies.

"Not me!" Charlene sang. She nabbed a fry and ate it. Betty and Kirstie both shook their heads as well. "You're not leaving, are you Norman?"

“Got nowhere better to go, I’ll stick around.” He leaned back, resting against the cushion of the booth.

"Same here," Charlene sighed. "It's my day off, and the husband's been grouchy ever since the Eagles lost last week."

“How could he be grumpy with such a lovely wife?” Norman said playfully, and Betty nodded vigorously in agreement. 

“That’s right, Char! He doesn’t need football when he has you!”

"Yeah, Charlie!" Kirstie agreed. "He won with you, that's what matters!"

"Aw, thanks guys." Charlene blushed, leaning back against the booth. She sighed lightly. "The kids are at that mouthy stage, too, so I'm letting their father deal with it."

“Oh, you have kids?” Norman asked. Charlene did have a motherly aura about her, but he didn’t know she had children. He didn’t know much about her at all, really.

"Two. Two girls, Carly and Gina. 13 and 15." Charlene gave a fond smile. "They're my whole world, but by God are they brats. Would you ever want kids, Norman?"

He thought about it for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know. I’m thirty four, and gay... not the best things for someone who wants kids.”

"It's never too late, sweetheart," Betty said, reached across the table to pat his hand. "Here, Norman, have a fry. It's the world's cheat day."

“Thank you, Betty.” Norman smiled at her and took one of the now-lukewarm fries. He was starting to wish the precinct was made up of middle aged women instead of grumpy male cops.

Kirstie's phone rang, buzzing loudly on the table. They all stared at it. "What if it's Queen Valerie?" she asked, frowning. Charlene and Betty both pulled faces. 

"Don't answer, lady. It's your day off, live it!" Charlene said, slapping her hand down on the table top. Kirstie lifted the phone, peeking at the caller ID, and set it back down with a vicious smirk. 

"Not coming in today, *ma'am*," she said proudly.

“Hell yeah, Kirstie.” Norman encouraged. “You stand your ground.” He looked at his empty glass, pausing when his vision blurred momentarily. He blinked a few times, trying to clear it. No. He didn’t need withdrawals right now.

"You alright, Norman?" Betty asked, tilting her head. Charlene put her hand on Norman's shoulder, peering at his face. Kirstie put the still-vibrating phone away, looking at him with concern on her face.

“Yeah, I’m good. I think I’m just gonna- I just gotta run to the bathroom quick. I’ll be right back.” He offered a weak smile, standing up and hurrying to the bathroom as quickly as he could without arousing suspicion.

"I hope he's okay," Kirstie said, frowning. Charlene stared after him. 

"I'm sure he is. I think he has a weak stomach, poor thing," she said.

Norman didn’t have a weak stomach, just a drug addiction. His hands shook, his steps unsteady. He stared at himself in the mirror. He knew he shouldn’t take it. He knew he should try to fight it, splash some water on his face and take a few minutes to calm down. But why? What was the point? 

He moved into one of the stalls, sliding the lock into place and pulling the vial of triptocaine out of his jacket pocket as he fell back to sit on the closed lid of the toilet. What was the point of fighting it, really? Was there any? He opened the vial, holding it up to his nostril, his free hand holding the other one shut as he snorted the drug. It was instant relief rushing through him, steadying his shaking hands and blurring visions, the dizziness in his head. He gasped, then sighed in relief. He sniffed again, taking in more before closing and putting away the vial. He stood up, taking a few deep breaths. God, he felt like shit. 

He flushed the empty toilet in case anyone was listening and went out to the sink, washing his hands and splashing some of the cold water on his face. He gave himself another moment to calm down, letting the water dry, before going back out to sit down again. 

“Sorry about that.” He apologized.

"Are you okay?" Charlene asked. 

"Was it the french fry?" Betty asked, biting her lip guiltily. "They get me sometimes too. The greasiness, you know?"

“Nah, it’s alright, don’t worry about it.” He flashed them a little smile. “Just felt a little queasy. Might’ve been the alcohol on an empty stomach, nothing to worry about.”

"Oh," Charlene said, frowning. "Maybe we should call it a day, girls. Let Norman go free so he can feel better?" Betty and Kirstie both agreed, and started to slide free from the booth. Charlene gave Norman a big hug. "Wishing you luck with all your boy troubles, Norman! Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

“Will do, Charlene.” He hugged her back, watching as they left before walking up to sit at the bar. He was gonna need a few more drinks.


	8. Chapter 8

Blake had always been an ass guy for sure, but usually there was a pussy involved. So, the fact that Norman Jayden had maybe the nicest ass he had ever experienced was a matter of great conflict to him. He shouldn't be watching him bend over at the vending machine to pull his soda from the slot, and he definitely shouldn't be watching him lift the mouth of the bottle to his lips, the way they wrapped around the plastic, or the way his throat moved as he drank. He didn't want to think about how his lips had looked wrapped around his cock or the way his throat had moved around him. The healing wound in his side only served as a reminder of that day on his couch, but he tried his best to ignore the guilt. It worked for the most part, at least until Norman met his eyes across the room and he had to look away. 

"You alright, Carter?" Grisham asked, leaning across the desks. 

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head. "Just thinking."

Norman sat down in the break room area with his soda, gaze lingering on Blake even after he’d looked away. He kept catching the lieutenant looking at him, it seemed. He was nursing another hangover, having stayed at the bar the night before long after Charlene had left. He took another long sip of the soda, shifting his gaze to the wall. 

He hated it. He hated these fucking feeling that he hadn’t had in so long, and how it fucking hurt to look at Blake, how every time he saw him all he could think of was the sound of his voice saying those cruel words as he shoved Norman away.

A chair dragged across from him, and Ash was sitting down. He crossed his arms, staring him down. "What happened between you and Carter? He's been acting fucking weird ever since he got shot."

“He’s always acting weird.” Norman said coolly, placing his drink down on the table. Ash was another one of Blake’s pals. He wasn’t going to tell him that he fucking kissed Blake.

"Well, something happened. He's been quiet, been staring at you, he won't go drinking with us. What the fuck is up, Jayden?" Ash snapped.

“Maybe the fact that one of his friends was the origami killer and I’m the one who found out?” Norman suggested, his tone quite clearly annoyed.

"I've seen him go through shit like that," Ash snarled. "We all have... except you. Maybe not this exact situation, but you've done something to him."

“You think I’ve done something to him? Are you fuckin’ serious?” Norman scoffed. “Sorry, but when’s the last time you saw him deal with one of his friends fucking shooting him?”

"Never," Ash admitted, tipping his head to one side. His eyes narrowed. "Four years ago, his little brother was caught in a drug bust. He stabbed Carter in the stomach to try and get away, and was gunned down outside."

“Jesus Christ.” Norman’s angry demeanor melted away. He was not good at staying angry. “Maybe this reminds him of that, in a way? I don’t know. I barely know him.”

"You're right. You don't. So stay away from him," Ash snarled, shoving the chair back against and storming off.

Norman stared after him in shock. What the fuck? He really thought Norman had done something to Blake, huh? As if it wasn’t Blake who shoved and shouted and and insulted him. He stood up, tossing his now-empty bottle into the trash with a loud bang before storming off to his office. Fuck this fucking city and their fucking cops. He slammed the door behind him, not giving half a fuck who noticed. They all hated him anyway.

They hated him for no fucking reason. He was sent to help, and he did. He never acted as if he was above them. He only ever tried to help and obey the damn law, and they all took it as an insult. It wasn’t fucking fair. He was lonely.

"What happened to Jayden?" Blake asked, eyeing the office door. Ash shrugged, signing onto his computer. Grisham heaved a sigh, pushing away from his desk. 

"I've just had work come back from the lab," he announced. "May as well grab him, see why he's sulking before we go."

Norman was sat at his desk, head in his hands, trying to handle his frustration. God, he wanted to go home. To his mom, his frogs, his small handful of friends. To people who actually gave a fuck about him. 

He didn’t even look up when he heard the office door open, taking deep breaths to relax. He’d be fine. He could do this. Just this one case.

"Jayden," Grisham barked. "What's up?" He slapped the case files on his desk, sitting on the edge of it. "Everything alright in FBI Land?"

“Fuckin’ tired. None of your business.” He grumbled, sighing and lifting his head. “What do you need me for? Get new information or somethin’?”

"You got it." He flipped the file open and pointed to the top sheet. "Our finest in forensics had overlooked something on the previous two bodies, but caught it with this one and rechecked the others. Each victim had trace amounts of rohypnol in their system."

“Date rape drug.” Norman said softly, eyes narrowing. “None of the victims showed any signs of sexual assault, did they? And the one we saw had wounds from fighting back.”

"Yep. Our killer drugs his victims to take them to wherever it is he kills them, waits for them to come around, and then attacks," Grisham summed up.

“That’s morbid. Sounds like he enjoys the thrill of the fight, then.” But not a fair fight, evidently, as the victims all lost.

"Yeah. And there's another thing." He pulled another page out. "I did some digging around, and Penny Lasher, a sixteen year old was reported missing by her parents two weeks ago, after she failed to return home from her high school's 'Pride Alliance Club'." He gave Norman a meaningful look. "I think we've got a fourth victim out there that we haven't found yet."

“This is the first female.” Norman noted, leaning over to look at the page. “Have we had anyone out looking for her? Or is everyone just sitting around?”

"Missing Persons was dealing with her case, but they handed over the details when I asked. Given the circumstancial evidence, they granted Homicide permission to treat her as a potential victim." Grisham pulled her picture free from the folder. "A fucking kid, man. I hate these fuckers."

“Sixteen years old.” Norman sighed, shaking his head. It was horrible. “Well, hopefully she’s not with the killer. Do we know if her parents were supportive of her?”

"Yeah," he said. "They said they drove her to see her girlfriend on weekends, you know how it goes." Grisham shook his head. "Man, I've got a baby girl at home and I hate thinking there's people like this out there. Makes me fucking sick."

Norman glanced at him. “It’s bad enough to see this kinda shit as someone without kids, I can’t even imagine if I did have my own...”

He sighed. "Just have to try and protect em, you know? Anyways, since the victims were all dumped at the same place, there's a high probability that he lives in the same area, and the killing location is as well."

“I can do a geoanalysis with the locations of the victims, but without any other evidence to check it with, it won’t be very helpful.” Norman offered.

"Geoanalysis," Grisham echoed. He sighed again, picking up the folder to leaf through it. "This guy's left nothing behind, besides those footprints, and that's a maybe at best. Did you get any info back on those, by the way?"

“Nothin’ yet.” Norman sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck. I’ll do the geoanalysis now.” He pulled out ARI, putting it on. He knew he looked stupid as hell to Grisham, but he waved his hands around anyway, pulling up the files of where the three victims had been found so far.

Grisham watched, his brow knit in confusion. "Jayden, what the hell...?" Was he having a seizure, or hallucinations?

“It’s- fuck, just let me do this. It’s got files and shit on it. Like a computer, but more advanced.” He explained quickly. The victims home addresses were all within two miles of each other, though their proximity to the park varied.

Grisham grumbled, sitting back and watching Jayden finger fuck thin air. "Finding anything important?"

“Nothin’.” He huffed, shaking his head. “The victims homes were all within two miles of each other, but that’s about it. It can give us somewhat of a sense of location, but it’s hard to be sure.”

"Dammit," he grumbled. That was something they'd already known from the case files; he'd hoped that Jayden's mystical FBI equipment would have some new insight.

Norman pulled off ARI, tucking it away. It wasn’t exactly helping him at the moment. “We need more clues. We got nothin’ to go on right now.”

"Three fucking bodies and nothing to go on," Grisham snapped. "We'll compile a list of churches in the area. If this guy's a religious nut, I'm sure he'll have gone to one of them. Work on those footprints. Shoe size, brand, whatever helps."

“I’ll look more into it. Though, if the guy has a brain, he wouldn’t wear the same shoes when killing people as he does when out on the town.” Norman sighed.

"Unless they're from when he nabbed him," Grisham countered. "Anything'll help. If we have to go play Cinderella with everyone in Philadelphia to find this fucker, we will."

“It would help if we had the actual shoe and not just the footprint.” Norman said coolly. “Is there any information from the families of the first two victims?”

Grisham rifled through the papers. "Jona's mother is still convinced it's all a mistake, cause her son wasn't gay." He gave Norman a dry look. "His father said maybe it's best this way, cause he doesn't want no fairy fag for a son anyways," he quoted, putting on the gruff tones of Mr. Moore. "The Pell family, on the other hand... The mother thinks she remembers a sound outside their house the night he disappeared, but can't remember what time or if she imagined it or not."

“Great. Useless.” Norman paused. “Well... actually. The father. Did he seem suspicious at all? Was he religious, do we know?”

"They were church goers," he said simply. "They claim to have had no idea that their son was gay. But, get this? All four families, the three victims and the missing girl, all went to the same church."

“Based on what I know, the killer sounds like a single adult male.” Norman stated, nodding slowly as he considered the new information. “Well. Let’s check out the church then. What is it?”

"First United Methodist," he read off the file. "That's about ten minutes from Dilworth Park, the dumping spot."

“Very high chance the guy goes to that church then.” Norman noted. “So he’s not as good at covering his tracks as I thought. Taking all victims that go to the same church. Could he be anymore obvious?” Unless it was a trick.

"It's gotta be a trick, but it's a lead. So." Grisham swung his keys on his finger. "Got your fancy glasses?"

“Got them in my jacket, don’t worry.” Norman stood up, stepping out of his chair and then pushing it in.

"Let's go bust some Jesus freaks," Grisham said, leading the way to his car. Blake watched them go, his expression unfathomable.

Norman didn’t look at Blake at all as he walked out. He didn’t want to look at him. Stupid fucking asshole. He followed Grisham, getting into the passenger seat.

The drive to the church took about twenty minutes through traffic, the silence this time far less tense than that of the other day. There were few other cars in the lot, and only two people sat praying in the pews when they walked inside. 

"Father Marlen?" Grisham called.

An average looking man who was maybe a tad overweight stood up, turning around and offering a smile that instantly sent chills down Norman’s spine. “Hello boys. May I assist you in any way?”

“Uh, yeah.” Norman answered. “We’d like to talk?”

"Of course," he murmured. "Please," he swept his arm out, gesturing to the pews, "sit."

"Is there an office we could meet in?" Grisham asked, glancing around. He would rather not discuss the finer details of murder in the open room of a church. He wasn't a religious man by any means, but it still felt just wrong. 

"Yes, of course. This way." Father Marlen turned and shuffled off to a side room, letting them in first and closing the door behind him.

Norman wasn’t super comfortable being alone with this man, but it had to be done. “Are you aware that three members of your church have died?” He questioned. It was common knowledge by now, all over the news. Another fancy killer in Philly.

"Yes... I did hear about that. Tragic business, but if the Lord deems it their time, there is nothing that we as His children can do," he sighed. Grisham raised an eyebrow. 

"They were murdered. You think your God planned that for them?"

“Well, as I did say... everyone has their time. Who are we to question His-“ 

Norman cut him off. “Would you say the same thing if they had been straight?”

"Wha—" Marlen blinked. "Why, yes, of course. We are all God's children, regardless of sin. They chose to defy His word and lie with other men, but our Lord is forgiving and he has welcomed them home."

Norman grimaced. “Regardless of sin? Really?“ He snorted, shaking his head, before changing the subject. “Did you know them well?”

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Young Mr. Moore in particular was a regular to my confessional. He was always so ashamed of what he got up to, but he never could seem to stop himself." Marlen shook his head sorrowfully. "It's always such a shame, to see the young destroy themselves. But the Lord forgives."

“Destroy themselves?” Norman scoffed. “What about being gay is destroying them, exactly?”

"Well," the priest said, visibly confused. "The sinful nature of their act—"

"What's sinful about it?" Grisham challenged.

“Men should not lay with men!” The priest insisted, growing obviously rather agitated. “The Bible says so!”

Norman grit his teeth. “So does that make it okay for them to be fuckin’ murdered?”

"Pretty sure the Bible says you're not supposed to kill people," Grisham snapped. 

"As I said, what has happened to these people is tragic, but it is all in God's hands. It is His wishes."

"God controls His children's fates," Marlen insisted. He turned away from them, reaching for a drawer on his desk. Grisham's hand fell to the gun at his hip, but Marlen emerged with merely a Bible. He pressed it into Norman's hands. "Please, take this."

Norman looked down at it. “Why the hell are you giving me a bible?” His brows furrowed. The fuck? Was he trying to get them to join his church now? He’d take it, in case it held evidence of some sort... but it was odd.

Marlen merely looked at him with widened eyes, as though trying to impress the importance of the Bible on Norman. "This is of my brand," Marlen said vaguely. "It's mate I'm afraid has been lost, but it may help you in more ways you would know."

“I’ll take it.” Norman stated. “I don’t understand why you’re giving it to me.” He glanced over at Grisham. They’d gotten very off topic. “We’re not here to talk about bibles, though. Had anyone in the church ever shown any sort of disgust or violence toward any of the victims?”

"We are a community," Marlen said, affronted. "We pray for our lost ones, and the families come daily. If anyone held any ill regard for the victims, they did not show it."

"You expect us to believe that every person in this church gets along perfectly?" Grisham asked wryly.

“If they do not get along, I don’t see it.” Marlan frowned at the both of them. “This church is, as I said, a community, my boys.” 

Norman didn’t like this guy at all. “I find that hard to believe. You’ve never seen no one disagree here?”

"This is a holy place. All grievances are left at the door," Marlen assured them. "Within these walls, we are family under the Lord."

"You keep saying that, but families don't usually murder each other," Grisham snapped.

Norman looked at him for a moment before speaking up. “What about confession? Have you heard anything there about the victims?”

Marlen was quiet for a moment. Grisham and Norman stared at him. "The families blame themselves," he said finally. "I'm not at liberty to discuss their personal details, but they have all come to speak with me in their times of need. Fearing there is more they could have or should have done. All I can do for them is assure them that their sons are home safe with God."

“Well..” Norman cursed mentally. They couldn’t make him tell them shit. Confessions were confidential. “Just know... if anything comes up, it can be anonymously reported. If anyone heard anything that could help us or the victims.” He stared pointedly at Marlen.

"I will keep that in mind." He bowed his head graciously.

"What did you mean by the Bible being of your brand?" Grisham asked suddenly, gazing at the Bible in Norman's hands.

"My seal of the Church is in the binding," Marlen said, pointing. "That is my copy of the New International. My King James is absent—"

"Yeah, you said it was lost," Grisham interrupted. "So there's only two of them?"

"Yes," Marlen said, frowning. Grisham nodded, mentally cataloguing the information.

“I think we’re done here.” Norman looked over at Grisham, keeping his voice even.

"We'll keep in touch." Grisham handed Marlen a card, eyeing him with obvious distrust. "Give us a call if you decide to share, alright?" 

"Of course," Marlen said softly. "Let me show you out."


	9. Chapter 9

"Hey," Blake barked, striding towards Norman. It was early, with only a few go-getters in the precinct, and Blake was on his second mug of coffee. Then Jayden walked in, and Blake's sleep-deprived brain did a jig. He grabbed Jayden by the arm and shoved him into his office, shutting the door behind him.

Norman took a moment to register what was going on, stumbling as he was pushed, turning to face Blake with furrowed brows and a confused expression. He had a headache, was fucking tired, had barely slept... “Blake? What the fuck do you want?” 

Rather than answer, Blake grabbed Norman by the tie and shoved him back against the wall, crashing his mouth against his in a bruising kiss.

Norman went rigid, eyes wide in surprise. He wanted to kiss him back. Fucking god, he wanted to kiss him back, and he instinctively started to before snapping out of it and shoving harshly at Blake’s chest. “What the fuck?!” Was he looking for a quick fuck? How dare he kiss him after how he reacted when Norman did the same. He felt anger and confusion and hurt bubbling up inside him.

"What, you don't like it now?" Blake snapped. He grabbed Norman's wrists and leaned in to kiss him again.

Norman turned his head to the side, squirming against his grip. “Get off me! Fuck off!” He snapped. He felt sick, sick and hurt. Why did Blake have to do this? Why was he fucking playing with him like this?

Blake cursed and backed off a step, glaring at him. "What? What's the matter, Jayden?" he snapped. "I thought you wanted this."

“What the fuck?” Norman snapped, stepping a bit to the side to get further away from him. He wanted to curl up in his chair and fucking cry like a little kid. Blake really liked hurting him. Playing with him, toying with him. Using him to get his rocks off when it was convenient. “Fuck you, Blake!” His voice wavered slightly.

"Fuck me? What the hell did I do?" Blake asked incredulously. What the fuck? Jayden had been ignoring him because he didn't kiss him, then he kisses him and it's bad?

“Are you kidding? Are you fucking kidding, Blake?” Norman said incredulously, shaking his head. There was a lump in his throat. “Get out!” He stepped forward, shoving at Blake’s chest. “Out!”

Blake held his ground. "What do you want me to do, apologize?" Jayden was far too upset to be reasonable, so maybe he should leave, but he wanted answers first.

“Oh, so you can fuck me again?” Norman shoved him, again, swallowing the lump in his throat as best he could. “Get out, Blake, get the fuck out!”

"Try and say something besides 'get out' so I can understand what the problem is," Blake sneered. "Who said anything about fucking, anyways?"

“I’m not fucking talking to you right now! You fucking come in, shove me against the wall, kiss me like- like that!” He crossed his arms over his chest, blocking himself off. He was getting shaky. Tripto. He needed tripto. “You need to leave, now.” His voice went softer and the wavering was obvious.

"No." He took another step towards him, crowding him against the wall. "What's the fucking problem, Norman?" He drawled the name, scowling.

He wanted to disappear into a hole and never fucking see Blake again. He wanted to run the fuck away from Philadelphia, because even fucking seeing or hearing the lieutenant hurt. It wasn’t okay. He wouldn’t let himself be treated like this, like a fucking sex toy. He was so tired, running on almost no sleep the past few nights, head aching from alcohol and withdrawals, hands shaking and vision blurring because of course it always hit him at the worst times. “Get out, Carter.” He said again, not able to muster up the same anger he did when Blake first walked in.

"Hey." Blake touched his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. "You look fucked up— are you drunk or something? Jayden?"

“Why can’t you just listen to me for one fucking time?” Norman lashed out weakly, shifting away from the touch. He wanted, needed, to be alone.

"I'm not fucking leaving until you tell me what's wrong!" Blake demanded, abandoning the gentle approach. If Jayden wanted to drink before he came to work, whatever. It was Grisham's problem, not Blake's. What Blake's problem was that Jayden was a stubborn little bitch.

Norman shook his head. “You need to leave.” He reluctantly uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, making sure his triptocaine was there. He shifted to the side, trying to move away from Blake.

"No," he snapped. He shoved him back against the wall. "Jayden, you're shaking. You won't look at me, you won't talk to me. What the fuck is up?"

“I just need you to leave.” He kept his voice even. “Please.”

"Jayden." He cupped his face in his hands, turning his head to look into his eyes. "I ain't leaving til you tell me what the problem is."

“Don’t. Touch me.” Norman grit his teeth, closing his eyes to avoid looking at Blake. To hide the wetness of his eyes. “Listen to me, for fucking once. For once, just fucking listen. Get. Out.”

Blake grit his teeth. He pressed the flat of his palm against Norman's chest and kissed him briefly before backing away and letting him have some space. "Norman," he muttered. "You're a stubborn fucker, you know that?" He gave him one last, long look and left the office, clicking the door shut behind him.

Norman waited a moment to make sure he was gone before stumbling over to his desk, pulling the vial of triptocaine from his pocket and bringing it to his nostril, snorting a good amount of it. It was instant relief, but it didn’t calm the shakiness in his hands or the exhaustion, nor the tears he hadn’t realized had begun to fall the second Blake left the room. 

He pulled himself together rather quickly. But he was tired. It was so much work. He was lonely, he was barely sleeping, miserable and suffering withdrawals any time he went too long without tripto- and the amount of time that counted as ‘too long’ kept getting smaller and smaller. He’d always liked work, staying busy, but this all was draining him. Philadelphia was draining him. The Origami Killer case had already done a number on his mental health, and this was close to being the straw that broke the camel’s back. He couldn’t fucking sleep, stayed up all night drinking. So when he was at work, alone in his office, sitting in that uncomfortable chair- he couldn’t help it when he fell asleep. He tried to fight it, nodding off and jerking awake, but it finally overtook him. 

_He was in the church, naked, with Blake standing in front of him just as exposed. The church was empty, moonlight coming in the stained glass windows, and the silence was only interrupted by Norman speaking quietly, looking at Blake and saying, “You gonna just stand there, tough guy?”_

_"Sure you're ready?" Blake's voice was a low rumble; he moved towards him, taking one long leg in hand and pulling his thighs apart. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard you're screaming my name for God to hear."_

_“God will hear it, alright.” Norman grinned at him, eyes dark with lust. He was going to get fucked on a fucking church pew. His cock twitched as Blake pulled his legs further apart. “Hurry.”_

_Blake pushed his fingers against Norman's hole, teasing the rim. He was already slick with lubricant, the muscles giving easily as Blake slid two fingers inside. "You're so tight around just my fingers, babe. I should fuckin fist you just to stretch you out."_

_Norman’s hips jerked and he made a pathetic sound, eyes rolling back slightly. “Fuck, Blake. Fuck. Please fuck me, please.”_

_"You don't even want me to do this, do you?" He curled his fingers inside him. "You just want my cock in you, tearing you open. Little cockslut."_

_“Please!” Norman begged. It felt so good, Blake’s fingers pushing and curling and stretching him, but he was already loosened enough, he could take it. He needed it._

_Blake chuckled, pulling his fingers free with a lewd sound and grabbing his dick. He stroked himself languidly as he lined up with Norman's hole and slowly pushed in, teasing him with just the head._

_Norman gasped, wrapping his legs around Blake’s waist. It felt so fucking good, he didn’t even feel the pain of the stretch, just how fucking good and full he felt. “More, please.”_

_"You want more? You think you deserve more?" Blake lifted his head, shouting to all the stained glass windows, to the ornate crosses on the wall. "We'll see how fucking holy this place is when I'm done with him!" He pushed all the way inside in one brutal thrust, driving against his prostate in a well-practiced movement._

_Norman cried out, hips bucking and back arching off the surface of the pew. “Ah- ah! Blake!” He whined, reaching out to wrap his arms around him and pull him down._

_Blake bent his head and kissed him hard, all teeth and tongue and breathless moans. He ground his hips against Norman's, teasing him with a long, slow drag. "You're not gonna know anything but my name by the time were through," he promised._

_“You better follow through on that.” Norman gasped, kissing him back. It felt so good to kiss him, lips slightly chapped but still so good against his own. And his cock, slowly shifting inside him, was sending little sparks of pleasure through his nerves._

_"Oh, don't worry baby," Blake purred. He pulled away and leaned back, gripping Norman's hips and pounding into him._

_He let out an embarrassingly loud moan, nails digging into Blake’s back. “C-Carter-“ He gasped, squirming. “Fuck, like that, oh fuck!” He felt like a whore but felt no disgust about it, just bliss, white-hot bliss as Blake fucked him and kissed him and called him baby._

_"Yeah, babe, be as loud as you can," Blake coaxed. "You're fucking sinful, that's what you are. Fuck," he groaned, pulling Norman's legs up to prop on his shoulders._

_Norman was somewhat surprised at his own flexibility, but he wasn’t about to complain, not when the new angle sent Blake’s cock pounding right against his prostate. “Fuck!” He nearly shouted, hips bucking. His cock was twitching, precome dribbling out and smearing onto his stomach._

_Blake swiped his fingers through the mess, pressing it to Norman's lips. "Go on, baby, eat up. This is just the beginning."_

_He eagerly took to fingers in his mouth, sucking at them as if they were Blake’s cock. He made eye contact, silently pleading him to go harder._

_Blake pushed his fingers deeper into Norman's mouth, pressing at the back of his tongue. He slowed his thrusts, dragging himself back until just the head remained inside Norman. "Tell me what you want, pretty boy."_

_Norman didn’t even gag at the intrusion, which was unusual, but he wasn’t about to complain. “H-harder,” He pleaded, cheeks flushing at the pet name, his voice muffled by the fingers. He needed more._

_"What was that?" Blake teased. "I can't hear you... Did you say softer?" He inched slowly back in, as slow as he possibly could. Norman's legs quivered on his shoulder and he smirked, staring down at his pretty little bitch._

_“Carter!” Norman whimpered. He was going to lose his mind if Blake kept this shit up. “Please, please,” His words were still muffled, but decipherable._

_The please did it. Blake thrust all the way back in, pulling his fingers free from Norman's mouth so he could be as loud as he pleased. "That's it, baby. You're so fucking tight."_

_Norman went breathless, gasping and clawing at Blake’s back. “You’re big, so fucking big, go harder, please, fucking fuck me-“ He cut off at a particularly well-placed thrust._

_Blake groaned low, arching his back into Norman's nails. "I'm gonna fuckin destroy you," he hissed. He leaned forward so Norman was bent almost in half, his legs shaking helplessly on his shoulders with every thrust. He hit his prostate again, and shifted to keep him aim there._

_“Please!” Norman begged, falling apart beneath him. He wanted Blake to fucking ruin him, to fuck him so hard he couldn’t speak or even think._

_Blake grunted, fucking him harder still. Norman's moans and the lewd, wet sound of sex filled the church. "You're so damned gorgeous like this, all spread out and begging for cock. Beautiful little slut," he murmured, dipping his head to mouth along Norman's pale throat._

_He just moaned helplessly, letting Blake pound into him and mouth at his neck, basking in the pleasure consuming him. It felt so good, dream-like, it had his eyes rolling back and his toes curling. Their sounds echoed in the large room._

_Blake bit down on the soft junction of his neck and shoulder, sucking a bruise. "You're mine, Norman. All mine. Everybody's gonna know it."_

_“Yes..” Norman moaned, tilting his head to the side to allow Blake better access. To let Blake mark him. He wanted everyone to know, wanted people to look at him and see he was Carter Blake’s._

_"My filthy little whore," he muttered, biting down on his throat again. He leaned back, holding Norman's hips as he fucked him, aiming for just the right spot to make him scream._

_He was successful. A few more thrusts had Norman practically screaming, back arching and lips parted, so loud that if there was a God, He was sure fucking hearing them now. Norman panted out Blake’s name, his cock aching, his walls clenching around him._

_"You gonna cum, baby?" Blake teased, groaning softly. He squeezed hard, sure to leave finger-shaped bruises along his hips. "Want you to come for me, beautiful..."_

_“Close..” Norman whimpered our a warning, wheezing his eyes shut for a second before thinking better of it and opening them, looking up at Blake. “I-I’m close, fuck..”_

_"Scream my name," Blake murmured, grabbing Norman's cock and stroking him, his hips moving faster, harder._

_“Carter!” Norman moaned, hips bucking. “Fuck, fuck, please!” It felt so good, so fucking good, he was right on the edge of bliss._

"Jayden?" Blake called, pushing the office door open. He peeked inside, noting with distaste how dark it was. "You ready to talk like an adult yet?" Jayden was slumped over his desk, head in his arms, mumbling incoherently. Blake grumbled and walked towards him. "Jayden!" he barked. "Are you fucking sleeping? Wake up!" He reached out to shake him awake, but his new proximity let him hear exactly what Norman was mumbling. He was letting out soft, breathy little mewls and moans, almost inaudible, and an erection was straining against the front of his pants. Blake swallowed, suddenly very uncomfortable. 

"Jayden, you're a grown ass man," he told him. "Fucking wet dreams like a goddamned teenager... Wake up!" He touched his shoulder and Norman twitched, a quiet little "ahh" escaping his lips, followed by a longer, drawn out moan. Blake jerked back, flinching like he'd been burned. "Did you just—" He took a step back, towards the door.

Norman was stirred from his rest rather quickly after his orgasm, groaning softly and lifting his head. Had he fallen asleep on the desk? Was he really that pathetic? He blinked slowly, vision bleary, slowly registering that he wasn’t alone in the room as he sat up and his eyes met Blake’s. He looked at him tiredly, still not registering it all the way that he’d seen him, heard him.

Blake stared at him in silence for a long moment. "...Jayden?" he said finally. He didn't look like he was all there, his hair ruffled, red mark on his left cheek from sleeping on the desk. His eyes were droopy and lips slightly parted in confusion. "What the fuck was that?"

“Wha-?” Oh. Oh. He’d just had a fucking wet dream, he could feel the stickiness in his boxers, soaking into the fabric, and the very man who was the subject of his dream was standing in front of him and had probably heard him. “Fuck.” He groaned, dropping his head back down onto the desk. Fuck.

"Grisham was looking for you," Blake said after another moment. "Should I uh, tell him you're coming?" He couldn't help himself and he smirked at his own joke.

Norman’s thoughts floated back to how Blake had acted before he’d fallen asleep. Playing with him. He grit his teeth. “Fuck off, Blake. You’re not funny.”

Now emboldened by the mood returning to the somewhat usual, Blake took a step towards him. "How was it? You were fucking noisy."

“Go away.” Norman groaned, head still in his arms on the desk. God he felt uncomfortable, sitting there as his cum slowly got colder and stuck to his skin.

Blake took another step towards him, crouching besides him. "I'm sure you didn't hear me while you were busy, but if you're ready to talk like an adult...?"

“I don’t wanna talk to you.” Norman mumbled. He didn’t care if it was immature. He didn’t owe Blake shit. Blake fucking hurt him, and humiliated him, and he didn’t want to talk to that asshole anymore.

"You're acting like my niece," Blake said, scowling. "There's nothing you want to say? Nothing you want me to say?"

“Oh yeah, Blake. I just wanted to beg you to fuck me then shove me on the floor, yell at me, and storm out again.” Norman lifted his head, looking over at Blake.

"I can do one of those things," he said, looking steadily back at him. "Or none of them."

“None.” Norman huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’d be perfectly happy if I never fucking saw you again.” It was a lie.

"Yeah? Didn't seem like that five minutes ago when you were panting my name into the desk," Blake snapped. It was a total bluff; Norman hadn't said anything at all, just moaned quietly, but he doubted he knew that.

Norman’s face went beet red and he looked away. “There you fucking go again. Why are you even here? What do you want?”

"I want you to talk to me!" Blake spat. He glared at him. "If we're being honest, Norman," he drawled, "I want to kiss you and make you make more of those fucking sounds."

Norman’s face reddened, and he sputtered for a moment, lost for words. “You can’t- you can’t fuck with me like this, Blake! You can’t say this shit, because you’re just gonna shove me and fuckin’ yell at me again!”

"I ain't gonna do that. I'm gonna leave you alone and tell Grisham you'll be out in a few." Blake stood up and left the room without another word.


	10. Chapter 10

"Jayden! There you are!" Grisham barked as Norman emerged from his office. His jaw was clenched and he looked pissed. "There's another fuckin body at Dilworth Park. C'mon."

Norman had just snorted some tripto before walking out of his office, and now he was glad that he’d done it. He walked up to Grisham, nodding slowly. “Another body? Got any info on it?”

"Yeah. Nineteen year old, Brandon June. The youngest one we've found." Grisham grabbed his things off his desk and hurried to the door, Norman on his heels.

“Any info on family? Significant others?” Norman walked quick to keep up with him, climbing into the car as they reached it.

"His mother's been hysterical ever since we notified her. His father isn't in the picture, I guess. His boyfriend is with his mother, we'll see them after the body." From the look on Grisham's face, it wouldn't be a pretty scene.

“Same situation as the others? Body in the park, on a flag, left with a note?” Norman asked.

"From what I've been told, this one is... A little different," Grisham said vaguely, speeding from the parking lot. He flicked his lights on so cars pulled over all in front of them, and the drive to the park cut down to almost five minutes.

“Different how?” Norman said slowly, turning his head to look at him. “What do you mean by that?”

"This kid was... Tortured, a bit?" Grisham pulled a face. "You'll see when we get there, I don't know a hundred percent what exactly, my briefing was extra brief today."

Norman was quiet for a moment. “Fuck.” He dragged a hand over his face, shaking his head slightly. “Fuck. How close are we?”

"Uh, if I speed up a bit, four minutes?" Grisham shrugged. "Trust me, Jayden, the kid ain't going anywhere."

“Very funny.” Norman said coolly. “But the sooner we get there, the sooner we can scout it all out. The less time we take to get there, the better.”

"Alright," Grisham said, shrugging. He stepped heavier on the gas, blowing through the mid-afternoon traffic until Dilworth Park was within sight. There were already a handful of cars there, crime scene tape set up all around.

Norman opened the door as soon as the car was put into park, stepping out of the car and scanning his gaze around the area. He noticed a tent set up and headed right over to it.

The victim was laid inside, dried blood spattered over his face, eyes still open and staring sightlessly up at nothing. His hands were draped over a paper sign on his chest, but the fingers were all broken at the joints and one elbow looked as though it had been dislocated. Grisham sucked in a sharp breath when he saw him. 

"'The Lord sees and He forgives. There is no blood on these hands'," Grisham read, gazing at the paper. "What the fuck. What the actual fuck, man..."

“Sounds a hell of a lot like our buddy back at the church.” Norman noted, pulling out ARI and putting it on. He held out his hand, scanning the body, and surely enough a bunch of things popped up. The broken fingers, the blood, fingerprint recognition, the paper. But nothing helpful, no evidence to go on.

"Anything?" Grisham asked quietly, giving him a sideways glance. He pulled on gloves and reached for the boy's chin, pulling his mouth open. It seemed to be the source of the blood, and sure enough... Grisham's eyes widened, but thankfully for his pride he didn't gag. The kid's tongue had been cut out, and not too cleanly.

Norman shifted to look, holding back a gasp at the sight. He scanned the wound, and from what he could tell, it had been done while the victim was still alive. “How long was he missing? Before the body showed up?”

"Disappeared last night," Grisham sighed. "Four bodies, five if we find that girl.... We need to bring this fucker in, but he's too clean."

“There’s gotta be something he’s left behind. Some sort of slip up.” Norman insisted, still looking around the corpse.

Grisham touched the kid's shoulder, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt back to look at the bruises around his neck. "He cut his tongue out, broke his fingers, and still had to strangle him?" He shook his head. "Is there anything you can analyze with the bruises?"

“Not much to analyze there, sadly-“ He cut off, noticing something pop up that he hadn’t seen before. DNA. He reached out, carefully picking a hair off the front of the dead boy’s sweatshirt. Long, blonde, definitely not belonging to the kid himself. ARI quickly analyzed it. 

“Penny Lasher.” Norman said quietly.

"What?" Grisham hissed, leaning in close to look. "You're kidding. You're fucking kidding. She's alive? He's got her, then. That fucker's still got her."

“Not kidding. This is her hair. Her DNA was on the victim’s clothing.” Norman held up the single strand of hair. “Doesn’t help us find him, but at least now we know who the girl is with.”

"Any footprints nearby?" Grisham asked in vain, peering from the tent. It was all concrete surrounding, and any footprints would blend in with those of the police investigators and forensics team.

Norman shook his head. “No. Nothing I can see.” He paused for a second before taking off ARI, tucking it away.

"Motherfucker. We need something. Anything," he said, pained. He looked around, hand on the kid's cold chest. "We put cameras up, but all we know is that he's average height and build. He wears all black and covers his face when he dumps them, and doesn't park anywhere in view of the cameras."

“Look anything like father Marlen?” Norman turned to Grisham, an eyebrow raised. “Because the note is written in a very similar manner to how that fucker talks.”

"...Can you scan videos with those glasses?" he asked. "I didn't even think about asking earlier. There might be something there. Some sort of proof."

“I can.” Norman confirmed with a nod. “I’ll do that when we get back to the station, I’ll just need you to transfer a copy over to me.”

"Of course." He looked back at the body, frowning, and stood up. "Feeling up to visit the family?"

“I guess we’d better.” Norman straightened up, sighing and shaking his head. “Feel horrible for them. You said the mother has been having a really hard time with it?”

"Apparently she didn't believe them when they told her. Said it couldn't be possible, that she'd only just seen him." Grisham sighed.

Norman nodded, expression solemn. “And do we know anything about the boyfriend?”

"They met in high school, got accepted to the same college. Big kid, football player. Shocked the family when he came out, but as far as I know they were very supportive of the relationship."

“And I assume the victim went to the same church as the others?” He looked down at the corpse.

"He had actually just left the church. Posted a big rant on social media that he wanted nothing to do with an organization—and a preacher—who didn't care about the deaths. Calling everybody to boycott the church and file complaints against Marlen."

Norman raised an eyebrow. “I’m gonna take a look at that when we get back to the station then. That’s... interesting.” Father Marlen was looking extremely suspicious at this point in the investigation.

"You're telling me," Grisham said, shaking his head. "We just need something solid on this guy to bring him in. Or we could sick Carter on him," he added as an afterthought.

Norman grimaced at the mere mention of the Lieutenant, replying with a cold and firm, “No. This isn’t Blake’s case. He’s staying the fuck out of it.”

"Alright. It was just a suggestion." Grisham shrugged. "Let's go. If you need to know anything else, we'll talk in the car."

“Alright.” Norman agreed, heading back to the car in silence. His mind was drifting off to Blake when he should’ve been thinking about the case. About the little evidence they had and how to put it together.

The Junes had a small apartment in the nicer part of town. Grisham knocked on the door, and barely a moment later a woman with tear-stained cheeks opened it. 

"Detectives?" she asked, voice hoarse. She pushed the door wider open. "Please, come in."

“My name is Norman Jayden, FBI.” Norman explained, stepping inside. “I’m... very sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

"I don't mean any offense, sir, but if condolences could bring my son back I would have hundreds of him by now." She gave a hollow smile and led them to the living room. Grisham sat quietly on the couch beside Norman, and she sat opposite from them in a rocking chair.

“We just have a few questions, as I’m sure you’ve already figured out.” Norman sat stiffly. The mother looked so sad, her expression almost empty. A mother who loved her son wasn’t uncommon at all, but this one reminded him of his own mom.

"Go ahead. Ask whatever you need. I'll tell you anything, if it helps you."

"Where did Brandon go last night when he left the house?" Grisham asked immediately. Ms. June frowned. 

"He and Liam, his boyfriend, they'd had a fight. He went for a walk, and I had gone to bed. I didn't think... He'd always come home before, I didn't think to wait up for him. And then he wasn't home this morning."

“Is Liam here now?” Norman questioned. “We don’t need to talk to him just yet, but we will want to soon.”

"He's in Brandon's room," she said softly. "He blames himself..."

He nodded slowly. “I can’t even begin to understand how you’re feeling, and I’m sorry we have to be here and bothering you in this time. But we want to find who did this to your son and the others.” He glanced at Grisham. “You go to Father Marlen’s church, correct?”

"We did," she said. "Brandon and I stopped going recently. Father's viewpoints on the killings were... Unsettling. We decided that any church that supports that isn't one we want to be apart of.'

"What do you mean by that?" Grisham asked, leaning forward. 

"Father encouraged us to ignore it, and think better on what we did in our home lives. He thought it might save us..." She furrowed her brow. "He led us in prayer for the families, but never for the souls of the victims. I thought that was odd. He always said God knew what His plan was, and everything that was happening was according to His plan. But what god would want my sweet boy to die like that?" Her eyes watered and she lowered her head, wiping at her eyes.

“Sounds like the same shit he said to us.” Norman told her, his expression still soft despite the surge of anger at the mention of how Marlen had been acting. “Smart of you, I think. To leave the church. All the victims of this killer have been people who go there.”

"It's not like it helped anything," she said with a sad little smile. "It's just... So scary to think that somebody I've known for years, saw every Sunday, is capable of something like this. And you have no idea who he is?"

“No clue. We have suspicions. Father Marlen himself we’re suspicious of.” Norman admitted. She was just a mother, she wasn’t going to go running around and running her mouth.

Grisham shot Norman a warning look. "We're considering him, based on circumstancial evidence."

Ms. June looked between them. "Honestly, officers, I don't care who it is as long as you catch them."

“Do you know anything about bibles, Miss?” Norman asked. “About Marlen’s specific bibles? Have you seen them?”

"Oh... I never introduced myself, I'm Wendy. And yes, he reads from them. He doesn't like to use any other bible, I think he has notes written in them."

“What about the King James? When’s the last time he read from it?” Norman tilted his head.

"Oh, it was a month ago? I think. Unless he's read some since we've been gone." She shrugged helplessly.

“Thank you, ma’am. I think that’s all for now. Unless my partner has more questions, I’d like to talk to your son’s boyfriend.” Norman nodded politely.

"That'll be all for now. I'm sure we'll have follow up questions when were through with Liam?" Grisham said, rising off the couch. Wendy nodded. 

"Of course. I'll be here..." She lifted her feet up onto the chair and curled up, leaning her head against the side. Grisham averted his gaze, letting her have her privacy in grief.

“Fucking terrible...” Norman said quietly to Grisham as they walked away. “That poor woman.” It was sad, horribly sad, to see a mother grieving as she was. To see someone who’d lost their child. “Was he an only child?”

"Yeah," Grisham replied, just as quietly. They wandered down the hall and he knocked on a semi-open door, leading into a bedroom painted dusty blue. A burly teenager sat on the bed, head bowed, a t-shirt clenched in his fist.

“Liam?” Norman said quietly, stepping into the room. He felt his heart instantly break a little more. This poor kid, sitting in his dead boyfriend’s bedroom while the mother sat out in the living room, both grieving their loss. It was so fucking sick, whoever was doing this.

Liam looked up. His eyes were surprisingly dry, but his gaze was empty and haunted. "Oh... Officers. I'm guessing you have questions for me?"

“Just a few. Don’t worry, you’re not under any suspicion.” Norman said softly. Poor kid.

Liam nodded, jaw tight, and looked back down. Grisham knelt down. "Wendy told us you and Brandon fought? Can I ask what it was about?"

"Uh, yeah... It— it was stupid, so stupid. I wanted him to go to a party with me, but he didn't want to. I got upset, he got upset." He bit at his lip, not looking at them. "I never got to say I was sorry."

“I’m sure he knew.” Norman moved to sit on a chair by the bed, brows furrowed slightly. His heart hurt for this poor kid. He hoped he wouldn’t have to see another heartbroken boyfriend, or a grieving mother because of this case. He hoped this would be the last kid the killer got to.

Liam nodded. Grisham cleared his throat quietly. "Were you also a member of Marlen's church?"

"No. I've never been much for religion. Neither's my family. I'm glad now," he said. "I just wish Brandon hadn't been."

“I’m sorry.” Norman said, looking at him. “I...” He couldn’t imagine, but the kid didn’t need to hear that. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Liam. And I’m sorry we have to be here disturbing you right now.”

"Did you know any of the other victims?" Grisham asked. Liam nodded again. 

"Not well, but I knew Jona. He was a few grades above me in school, on the soccer team. I heard he came out to his family a couple weeks ago? His dad's always been super religious, I dunno how he took it. But I guess that doesn't matter now."

“It still matters.” Norman said quietly. “You and your boyfriend, did you notice anything odd? Anyone odd?”

"Well... A few days ago, we were, uh, at a bar." He gave them a guilty look. "Marlen was there with a couple of guys. He wanted to buy us drinks. Brandon said no, he was real pissed about everything. We left after that."

“Marlen?” Norman perked up a bit, interested. “Do you know who the guys were? What they looked like?”

"I dunno. One was around his height, I think, dark hair, kinda buff? The other was shorter, real skinny, glasses."

Grisham pulled the files free and rifled through them. He had a sudden hunch. "Do these men look familiar?" he asked, handing him two papers. Liam took them and studied the pictures. 

He shrugged helplessly. "I... I dunno. It could be? Like I said, it was a few days ago. And we left pretty soon after, cause Brandon was upset."

“That’s understandable.” Norman nodded. He didn’t want to spend too long with this kid, didn’t want to bother him while he was grieving. “Is there anyone you know who would’ve wanted to harm him?”

"He wasn't really popular, you know? He was always getting harassed in school for being gay, but I don't think anybody would have gone out and killed him for it. He's... He was friendly, just so nice to everyone and always so forgiving." Liam put his head in his hands. "I dunno how anybody could want him dead. How they could do that to him."

“Whoever it is... they’re not a good person. Your boyfriend didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t do anything to deserve it. Neither did the others killed before him.” Norman didn’t know what to say, how to comfort the poor kid. He looked over at Grisham. If there was nothing left to ask, he wanted to give these people their privacy.

"Thank you for your time," Grisham said softly. "If you can think of anything, give us a call, alright? I promise we'll get the guy who did this." 

Liam nodded mutely. Grisham gave him one last look before gathering his papers and heading out of the room after Norman. Once in the apartment building hallway, Grisham turned to Norman. 

"I know he didn't recognize them, but take a look at this. The fathers of the first two victims match the descriptions he gave, however vague." He showed him the papers.

Norman paused in his steps, taking the papers from Grisham and looking closely at them. “The two fathers were with Marlen? After their sons died?” He made a face. It wasn’t like Marlen was sympathetic about the murders.

"It's worth looking into," Grisham said. "I'm sure there's something going on there, if they're offering kids drinks at bars."

“It’s definitely worth looking into. Especially if they knew who the boys were, which means they knew they were under the legal drinking age.” Norman handed the papers back.

"We'll head back to the station for now," Grisham said. "Decide what we want to do, and head out later tonight."

“I’ll check over the evidence. You had a video for me to review?” Norman began walking again.

"Yeah, if you can. Compare whatever you can to pictures of Marlen, and I'll dig into these fathers. We spoke to them when the bodies were found, but they'd seemed clean." Now? Not so much. Grisham wouldn't be shocked if it turned out they knew something.

“Alright.” Norman got into the passenger seat of the car once they reached it and Grisham unlocked it. “I’ll review it all when we’re back at the station.”

"Lot of shit for today," Grisham muttered. He glanced up at the apartment building, thoughts lingering on those two destroyed people inside.

“It’s terrible.” Norman shook his head. “They’re so fucking sad. And there will be more like them if we don’t start finding shit out.”

"We've got more to go on, now. We'll get this taken care of." Grisham pulled away from the sidewalk, merging into the 5 oclock traffic. Much as he longed to do it, he couldn't justify turning the lights on to cut through to get back to the station.

“I hope you’re right.” Norman sighed, turning his head to look out the window as the first few drops of rain began to fall and roll down it.


	11. Chapter 11

Two days went by, and things were barely coming together. Norman still didn’t have the evidence he needed to find the killer. The Bible was full of Marlen’s ramblings, scribbled notes that didn’t at all match the handwriting of those left with the victims. That alone was enough to tell him either it wasn’t Marlen, or it was Marlen along with another person. But the murders all looked like a solo job. Plus, on the video Grisham had sent over to him, there was only one man dropping off the body. It was enough for him to deduce that the killer was an adult male working alone, and it wasn’t the priest- though he did figure it likely that the man knew something more about the murders than he let on. 

He’d spoken to the last victim’s boyfriend again, and found the location of the bar where the couple had seen Marlen. It was right next to the park, seeming almost like too much of a coincidence. He heaved out a sigh as he took off ARI, getting up and leaving his office to go to Grisham’s desk. 

“I want to interview the father of the first victim.” He stated. 

"Just the first? Alright." Grisham stood up at once. Blake eyed them both, visibly unhappy with how well they seemed to be getting along nowadays. There was also the fact that he'd been resigned to desk duties until whenever Perry decided to clear him for active duty. The blow to his pride hurt more than that to his side.

“We can talk to the others later if need be.” Norman explained, heading toward the door of the precinct. “You got the car keys, right?”

"Always." He followed after Norman, and once they were in the parking lot he held the keys up. "You wanna drive, Jayden?"

Norman snorted, raising an eyebrow as he looked at him. “Are you serious?”

"Yeah, didn't think so." Grisham shook his head in mock disappointment, getting into the driver's side. He waited as Norman climbed, content, into the passenger seat.

“Don’t act so surprised.” Norman joked, putting on the seatbelt. He’d rarely driven since being in Philly, only doing it when it was just him in the car. It wasn’t like he planned it, it just happened.

"I'm not, trust me. Don't think I haven't noticed you sleeping on me over there." It was kind of cute, actually; Norman dozed off all too easily in the car, much like a baby.

“Oh, come on. I’ve only done it once.” Norman’s cheeks flushed slightly. Sure, he dozed off, but he’d only actually fallen asleep once. It had been the day before, and he’d woken up to Grisham laughing at him.

"Yeah, sure. It's a ten minute drive, can you handle it?" Grisham teased, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Fuck off.” Norman groaned, though the corners of his lips were quirked upward. “The car bumps just make me tired, okay?”

"Oh, is that it? So all I have to do to knock you out is take you for a nice, bumpy drive?" Just to be an ass, Grisham swerved to hit a dip in the road.

“Grisham!” Norman exclaimed, grabbing the side of the door. “You’re an asshole! Not that kind of bump. Just the normal car bumps.”

"Just trying to lighten the mood," he said, shrugging. "Considering we may be going to talk to a murderer or accomplice. If your hunch is right." They usually were.

“I need to check his handwriting.” Norman looked over at him. “Along with the questions I need to ask. Like why he was offering underage kids drinks.”

"I'm being hopeful, alright?" Grisham sighed. "I want this case closed. Too many fucking people have died and we've got no solid suspects."

“And the last one was brutal. The tongue, the fingers...” He trailed off. “Well, you know this already.”

"Yeah. I'd like to ask the fucker why he did it," Grisham growled. He was already getting into a mindset that the man they were going to interview was guilty, which he knew was bad and something that Carter tended to do, but he couldn't help it.

“Hopefully you’ll get to soon.” Norman rested back in his seat. Grisham was much easier to work with than Blake, he was finding. It was nice to have a partner that didn’t beat up everyone they questioned.

Grisham squeezed the steering wheel. "Might have to let Carter at him, when we get him. I'd like to see this fucker pounded to a pulp."

Norman grimaced at the mention of Blake. “I’d rather not see Blake breaking the law again.” He said coldly.

"Whatever happened between you two?" Grisham gave him a sideways look. "I know you were never fond of each other, but you could at least work together."

“He’s an asshole and treated me like shit.” Norman replied. He liked Grisham well enough, but he wasn’t about to tell him that he had sex with Blake. “I went over and tried to help when he got shot. He threw a fit and kicked me out.”

"And that's it? That's why he's been staring at you for a fucking week?" Grisham shook his head. "I swear, he's so fucking stupid. Sorry about him, Jayden."

“He’s got too much pride.” Norman’s voice got quieter and he turned to look out the window, ignoring the pang in his chest. Had Blake been staring at him? Was he planning some sort of revenge?

"You're telling me. He's insufferable when he's set on something." Grisham sighed, speeding up just enough to make it through a yellow light.

“Now I’m worried he’s planning to come into my office try and kill me or some shit.” Norman huffed- it was a joke, with a hint of seriousness to it.

"Oh, he might," Grisham teased. "Carter's crazy, remember? Or he might just beat you up. Or yell at you. But he probably won't do any of that cause he's also a pussy."

“He hated me to begin with, and hated me even more once he found out I was gay.” Norman’s voice faltered a little. Talking about his sexuality openly was... odd.

"Wha— That can't be right. Blake's never been much of a homophobe." Grisham thought for a moment. "Hm. There's gotta be something else there."

Norman shrugged, as if he didn’t know what else there was that had Blake acting weird. “He’s called me a fag enough times to make me think he is.”

"Well, he's an asswipe." Grisham pulled up alongside the apartment building. "I wouldn't take anything he says personally."

“Yeah. I guess so.” Norman looked out at the building. He had the note scanned onto ARI, but he also had a physical photocopy of it for comparison. He’d just need to find a piece of this father’s natural handwriting.

"Well, let's get at it," Grisham said. He got out of the car and waited for Norman to climb out, leading the way to the building door. It was one you had to buzz into, so Grisham hit the button for the apartment. 

"Philly PD. We want to ask you a few questions." There was a long silence, then the buzz of acceptance. Grisham headed inside, holding the door for Norman. "Apartment 3B. Lead the way, agent."

Norman nodded and stepped inside, glancing around the hall. It looked fairly clean and normal. He walked the way to the correct apartment, finding the door labeled 3B and knocking on it. He smiled politely when it cracked open. 

“Mr. Moore?” He looked at the space where the door was opened just a little bit. “Could we come in?”

It was a woman who answered, however. She looked downtrodden, and there was a fading bruise on her cheek. "Oh— hello. You're the police? Come on in." She stepped aside from the door, holding it open for them. Grisham went in before Norman, glancing around to scope out the place. It was cluttered, but not messy. The woman, who Grisham assumed to be Mrs Moore, clearly kept it as neat and clean as she could.

“Is your husband home?” Norman asked, looking around as he stepped into the apartment, moving to stand to the side of the door.

"Uh, no. He isn't. Is there anything I can help you with?" She looked nervously between them, much like she would rather they left.

"When will he be back?" Grisham asked. 

"I don't know, really. He's gone out." Mrs Moore shrugged, chewing her lower lip.

“Has he left any notes around, ma’am?” Norman asked, stepping further into the apartment.

"I... No. I'm not sure. He files everything away and I don't have access to the file cabinet," she said sheepishly. She sat down on the edge of an armchair. "Do you need something?"

“I’d like to see his handwriting. You don’t have anything? A grocery list, a goodbye note? A scribbled down phone number?” Norman raised an eyebrow.

"I handle the groceries, and he doesn't leave me notes." She offered a rueful smile. "He may have marked something on the calendar, if you'd like to see that?"

“I would.” Norman nodded. “Thank you very much. Where is it?”

She stood up again, leading them to the kitchen. A calendar was taped to the side of the fridge, covered in scribbled handwriting. She paused as she touched the page. "A lot of this is from Jona..." she said quietly, tracing her fingers over one square, reading 'AA meeting at 7!'. "But Charles wrote this," she went on, pointing to a square reading 'church benefit at 11'. 

Grisham peered at it. The letters were tight and spiky, looking as though they came from the pen of a fifteen-year-old goth kid, not a middle-aged religious man. The lettering on the signs was more neat and careful.

Norman pulled out ARI, scanning the writing. It didn’t match the signs, but some of the letters did look vaguely similar... he took off the glasses, turning back to her. “Do you have any birthday cards, or anniversary, any sort of holiday cards from him?”

"No, he's not really the card type." She tilted her head, looking at them. "May I ask what you need his handwriting for?"

“Curiosity.” He replied simply. There was no damn way that this was the only bit of this man’s writing in the whole fucking apartment.

She looked at them for another moment, then looked away. Grisham eyed her suspiciously. "He... Um... In his office, he might have some paperwork. It's just down the hall, that way." She pointed, and trailed after them as they headed towards it. She stopped in the doorway like she'd been burned, and lingered behind, watching anxiously from the threshold as they went in.

“Are you okay?” Norman asked, softening his tone and turning around to look at her.

"I'm not allowed in his office," she explained, hand hovering over the doorframe, not even daring to touch it. Her socked toes scrunched back and she shifted her weight uncomfortably. 

"You're not allowed?" Grisham said incredulously. "It's your house too!" She shrugged helplessly, not meeting his eyes.

Norman looked at her for a moment, at her shaky demeanor and the faded bruising. Definite signs of someone who was being abused. He gave Grisham a look. “He won’t know if you came in, but if you’re not comfortable in here, that’s okay. I won’t force you to.”

She pointed to the desk, not moving an inch. "Second drawer. That's where he keeps his documents. Just please... Put everything back where you find it."

"Of course," Grisham said softly, giving her a long look.

Norman put his glasses back on, carefully sorting through some papers and scanning the writing. It was similar, but he couldn’t be sure... and it wasn’t grounds for arrest. He’d have to review it more at the station. He neatly put all the papers back in place then took off ARI.

"Anything?" Grisham asked, all too aware of Mrs. Moore's eyes on them. Her gaze lingered on the glasses in Norman's hands, but she said nothing. She had learned not to question men.

“Not enough.” Norman straightened up with a sigh. “I guess we’ll be going. If anything happens...” He looked at Mrs. Moore. “If anything happens, you can always call us. Or stop by.”

She bit her lip and gave a hesitant nod. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Grisham shook his head. "Just be careful, stay safe. Alright?" She nodded again, ducking her head down. She brought them to the door and watched them go, eyeing the clock. He should be home any minute now, but she didn't dare have them stay. If he knew the cops had been here, that she had talked to them... She shuddered at the thought.

“She’s being abused.” Norman said quietly once they were outside of the apartment. “It’s obvious.”

"Yeah. One more thing we'll nail this guy for," Grisham vowed. He looked up and down the street before crossing around to the driver's side, climbing in.

“He probably did the same to his son.” Norman added as he got into the passenger seat. “And then he died.”

"Coincidence?" Grisham said, shaking his head. "Definitely not." The drive back was quite after that, the both of them thinking about what they knew, and where they would go from there.

Norman waited until the car was off before getting out and heading into the station, following just behind Grisham. He walked all the way over to his desk. “I’ll go review the stuff on ARI, okay?”

"Have at it," Grisham said, tossing him the files. He collapsed into his chair, pulling up the security footage from the park on his computer. He had already watched it dozens of times, but it couldn't hurt to watch it once more.

Norman nodded, heading to his office to sort through his ARI. Nothing new except the handwriting. Some of the letters seemed to match, but not enough. None of it was close enough. He had a hunch of course, but bringing in a suspect on a hunch wasn’t exactly the best way to go about things. If he was wrong, that could get him in serious trouble. He looked over the evidence until he felt a trickle of blood on his cheek, and then he finally tucked ARI away, giving himself time to recover before going back out into the main area of the precinct. 

“Nothing.” He sighed, walking up to Grisham. “We’ve got jack shit.”

"Hey." Grisham looked up. "I've got an idea." Blake and Ash at their nearby desks also looked up, curious. "That bar, that's where they hang out? Why don't we go undercover there as a couple or something. See if they'll bite."

Norman stared at him for a moment, surprised by the suggestion. He frowned, brows furrowing slightly. Could that work? It didn’t seem too dangerous, not with both of them there.

"Fuck, no!" Blake spoke up. They all turned to look at him. "They'd recognize you both anyways, wouldn't they? If they don't, you could fuckin die."

“How would we be killed?” Norman turned to glare at Blake. He hadn’t been keen on the idea either, but Blake outright saying they couldn’t made him tempted to do it. “We’re both armed. People would know what we’re doing and where we were.”

"I— I dunno, you could get hurt before any of us could get to you," Blake sputtered, glaring defensively.

"Carter, why do you even care?" Ash drawled. "Let Jayden do whatever he wants."

“You’d be fucking thrilled if I got hurt.” Norman scoffed. “And you know Grisham well enough to know he wouldn’t be careless enough to get hurt.”

Blake stood up, ready to argue, but Grisham quelled with a look. "No, he's right," Grisham muttered. "Not about that, but they would recognize us. It wouldn't work."

Norman sighed, glancing at Grisham before deciding to back down. “Alright. We’ll figure something else out then, I guess. It’s late anyway. I’m going back to my hotel.” He shot Blake one last dirty look before turning and heading out of the precinct.


	12. Chapter 12

Once again, Norman was finding himself in serious need of a drink. He took a quick shower when he got back to his hotel, changing into a pair of comfortable jeans and an oversized hoodie. He placed a vial of tripto in his pocket with his wallet, leaving ARI behind when he went to the bar. It was the one within walking distance of his hotel, only about five or ten minutes, so he walked. He didn’t want to be driving with alcohol in his system, not when he knew he wanted to get fucking wasted. 

The bar wasn’t packed, but it was still fairly busy- not too busy for him to get a drink fairly quickly though. He ordered something strong, taking a big sip when he got it. 

"Tough day?" the bartender drawled. He passed a tray of shots over Norman's head to the lady standing behind him, and she threw a ten on the counter before hurrying off, shouting excitedly to her friends. In the corner booth where Norman had shared an hour with Charlene and her friends, a man sat alone, unnoticed, watching the bar.

“You could say that.” Norman said with a humorless laugh. “Stressed as hell, but I’ll be alright.” He took another big sip.

The bartender gave him a sympathetic look and bustled off, fulfilling more orders. He was too busy to really engage, but Norman was better left alone anyways, to think. The noise of the bar was better than the noise of the precinct or the silence of the hotel room.

Norman finished off his drink rather quickly and ordered a new one, taking a sip the second he got it. It was so frustrating. The case, Carter Blake... he groaned, putting his head down on his folded arms atop the bar.

"You alright there, sweet thing?" A lady flumped onto the stool beside him, face flushed with alcohol. "That's some hard stuff you're drinkin'. Wanna talk bout it?"

“Can’t.” Norman sighed, looking up at her. “‘m working with the fuckin’ cops.” He couldn’t tell strangers that he was upset because he had a hunch about who was killing the gays.

"The cops? Ooooooooh!" she purred. "You a cop, then, handsome?" She grabbed his arm, stroking the length of his toned forearm. "I've been naughty, officer..."

Norman groaned internally, feeling his cheeks flush slightly. He was uncomfortable. “Oh- uh- I’m sorry.” He carefully pulled his arm away. “I’m not really interested- it’s not you, you’re a very nice girl, I just- I’m sorry.”

"What did I do to ya?" she pouted, drawing back. She pushed her chest forward, showing off her breasts, practically spilling out of her skin-tight top. "I promise I ain't nice. I'm into all sorts of stuff..."

Norman’s face flushed darker, and he was growing visibly uncomfortable. “I don’t like women.” He blurted out quickly, just wanting her to leave him alone.

"Oh.... You're a fag?" she said loudly, sliding off the stool, visibly disappointed. She didn't seem to mean it harshly, but the damage was done and people were looking in their direction.

Norman groaned, putting his head back down on the bar counter. He could feel the eyes on him. It made his gut twist uncomfortably, knowing that so many people in the bar had heard- and that now they knew.

After a moment, the starers turned away. One figure slipped through the crowd, leaning across the bar to call out a drink order. A small pill dropped from his fingers into Norman's drink, dissolving in the amber liquid, and the man retreated back to the corner with his gin.

Norman lifted his head a few moments later, picking up his drink and taking a large sip. It tasted slightly different, almost, but he assumed it was just the taste of his shame. He finished off the drink within the next couple minutes. He considered ordering another, but his head was starting to feel a little fuzzy. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head, but it wasn’t working. 

He stood on shaky legs. These were withdrawals, they had to be. He placed cash on the bar before stumbling to the door. Fresh air, that would do him good. Especially with the way his stomach was starting to twist, making him feel sick. He braced himself against the wall as he got outside, taking a few deep breaths of the cold air, but it didn’t stop the dizziness of his head or the nausea.

"Hey, man. You alright?" A man approached him, dressed in a shabby black hoodie. "You're swaying a bit. Need to sit down? Or need a ride someplace?" He put his hand on Norman's shoulder.

Norman let out a soft groan, turning to rest his back on the wall instead and look at the man. “I’m... I’m alright, thanks.” He slurred, his eyes rolling back before he blinked rapidly, trying to refocus his vision.

"No, no, I think you need some help. A friend's house, maybe, that I can take you to?" The man pulled Norman's arm over his shoulder, helping support his weight. The music and noise of the bar was muffled behind them.

“No, ‘m okay.” Norman insisted, weakly trying to pull away, stumbling over his own feet. He was going to pass out. This wasn’t normal- were his withdrawals changing? Getting worse? It didn’t make sense. Was something wrong with his drink? “I don’- I don’t need help.”

The man grabbed Norman by the jaw and turned his face towards him. He watched the dawning comprehension, the fear in Norman's muddled gaze. "No... I'm going to help you, Jayden," Charles Moore murmured, almost reverently.

Norman stared at him for another moment, opening his mouth to speak, and then collapsing. His body went limp, consciousness leaving him before he could say a word.

Moore lifted him up, heaving his body over his shoulder and carrying him behind the bar to the parking lot. He popped the trunk of his car, shoving Norman's body into the back of it. He tied his wrists and ankles together tight, slamming the lid of the trunk shut with a look of grim satisfaction. 

"Sorry, Jayden," he said to the closed trunk. "I can't let you interfere. And..." He shrugged. "Sins are one's own undoing."

—-

Norman woke up some time later, his head aching something terrible. He found his limbs bound when he tried to move, blinking to focus his vision. What the fuck? Where the fuck was he? 

Ever so slowly, he remembered what had happened before he passed out. The bar, the man, the man’s face.

"Good morning," Moore purred. He came into vision, moving in front of Norman where he was tied and strapped to a chair. "Don't worry, I took the liberty of removing your guns. Yes, guns!" He added as though speaking to an unseen audience, and waved them both in front of Norman before throwing them aside. They skidded across the floor. "Do you know why you're here, Jayden?"

“Because I’m gay, is that it?” Norman spat, jerking at his restraints. “What’re you gonna do? Kill me like you did all those kids?”

"The sinner is aware!" He threw his hands up in mock celebration, and lifted his gaze to somewhere behind Norman's head. "Do you hear that? Finally!"

Norman made a disgusted face, trying to see where the man was looking at. “What the fuck are you on about?”

"Oh, Norman— I can call you Norman? Norman, you are the first to know exactly what is wrong with you! My son, he insisted there was nothing, swore up and down that it was normal..." Moore sneered. "My wife, she's the same, saying he was innocent, saying he was healthy and pure. Not a disgusting, vile little sinner. A putrid excuse of a son, that's what he was. That Chris, his dad came to me begging for me to fix him like I did Jona. That one begged and sobbed, fucking pathetic. This last one, Brandon? He blasphemed! Spat all these nasty little lies about our Lord and His plan, His grace." Moore shook his head in disgust. "But you... You knew." He tapped his temple, a knowing smirk on his lips. "You knew, Norman. There is hope for you yet."

Norman spat at him, glaring, his cheeks slightly flushed. “I’ve been gay for my whole life, asshole. You aren’t gonna change it, so if you wanna kill me, do it now. Fucking creep.”

Moore's face fell slowly. "And you're leading your cop friends right to me, aren't you?" He shook his head. "What do you think, should I offer?" But he wasn't speaking to Norman. A muffled sob came from behind Norman, and Moore scowled. "I said enough of that."

Norman’s brows furrowed. “Who is that?” Was it the girl? “Penny Lasher?”

"He asked!" Moore sang. He stepped towards Norman, then moved behind him and grabbed the sides of his chair. He dragged him around with a horrible scraping squeal of wood on wood, to face a young girl, strawberry blonde hair a tangled mess, and a band of duct tape over her mouth. Her eyes were hooded and streaming tears, staring back at Norman.

“What the fuck are you keeping her here for? She’s been missing for weeks, you realize that?” Norman jerked at his bindings, causing his chair to shake.

"Missing? No, no, she's been right here. Safe and sound," Moore said, moving to stand behind her. He put one hand on her head and one on her shoulder, and she flinched and cowered under his touch. "She's my test, see?"

“You’re fucking insane. What are you doing with her?” He looked at Penny, then back at Moore.

"She's my test," he repeated. "Think, Norman. What does a homosexual do that is so sinful?"

“I think killing people is more sinful than kissing other men.” Norman jerked at his restraints again.

"Not in the eyes of our Lord." Moore stroked Penny's hair and she shuddered, tears falling thicker and faster in her fear. "I used to think like you. But I read Father Marlen's volume, it was very... illuminating. Even so, I do try to heal people like you. I have Miss Penny here to help me with that." He pulled the ratty blanket off her, and she was stripped naked beneath it, her legs tied to the legs of the chair.

Norman instantly shut his eyes. “She’s a child!” He snarled. “She’s a fucking child, you sick freak!” He wouldn’t look at her. He didn’t want to, and he also didn’t want her subject to that humiliation.

"She's more than you think she is. She's like you, you know. I'm healing her too. I— *she* offers herself to the men, to help them atone, and atones herself with it.... Unfortunately, none of them wanted to be forgiven. I help her though," he said, stroking her hair again.

“She’s underage!” Norman practically shouted, still keeping his eyes shut. “I’m not doing shit. Whatever you want me to do, I’m not fuckin’ doing it. Leave that girl alone!”

"Have you ever had a woman, Norman? Be honest... She's like my wife, honestly. They both cry... But Miss Penny, here, she hasn't had any kids. So..." He gave a leering grin, though Norman couldn't see it.

Norman gagged. He felt sick to his stomach, more for the girl than for himself. “Let her go.” He demanded, not answering the question. He’d never been with a woman, they’d never appealed to him- from a very young age, he’d always liked boys.

"Suit yourself. In your act of denial, you have denied repentance. You are aware?" Moore snapped. He let go of Penny and stormed back to Norman, dragging his chair back around.

Norman opened his eyes now that he knew he wouldn’t have to look at the girl, focusing his glare on Moore once again. “You’re sick. You’re fucked up, and you’re sick. How’re you gonna kill me, huh? What’s gonna be on my note?”

"The Lord sees, and He forgives. He will welcome you home," Moore recited. He dashed off, and returned with Marlen's bible. "I went to Father Marlen, after Jona. He encouraged me to take a look through this, to truly read and understand the holy words, and his annotations. God is all-powerful! All-knowing! God sees and He knows what we, His children, are all destined for! This is His plan, Norman. Do not worry."

Norman wrenched at his restraints so roughly it almost knocked him and his chair over. “I knew that bastard knew something! That asshole knew it was you!”

"He knows more than you'd think, that man," Moore said admirably. "He told me the ones who had confessed to him of their... ways. I culled them, in the name of our Lord."

“He’s not fucking supposed to tell anyone about what’s said in confession. That’s why he couldn’t- wouldn’t- tell us shit.” Norman wanted to fucking punch this guy. “But we were onto you anyway. Even if you kill me, they’ll fucking know it’s you.”

"My mission here is not finished! My Lord will not let me fail," Moore promised. He shook his head, holding a page of the Bible up to Norman's face. "Do you see this, Norman?"

Norman pulled his head back. Moore was holding it too damn close for him to make out the words. “What about it?”

"Right here!" He pointed a thick finger at one line. "Man shalt not lie with man. You are a sinful beast, Norman Jayden! Will you repent?"

Norman scoffed. “At least I haven’t fucking killed anyone! I’m not repenting for anything. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

"I was in the bar, that day," he said suddenly. "You, and those ladies. I know your partner, that lieutenant, he's like you too isn't he? I'd love to see him in that chair. I'd love to hear what he would have to say for himself..."

Norman actually laughed at that. “The lieutenant fucking hates me, and he fucking hates that I’m gay. He thinks it’s disgusting. He thinks I’m disgusting because of it.” He sneered. “But nice try, you fucking idiot.”

"But like you said, they're onto me." Moore tilted his head. "I'm sure the Lord will not mind if I eliminate the sinful enemy? The more I think of it... I want him in that chair, Norman. After you, of course. I can't wait for them to find your body, tomorrow."

“He didn’t do shit!” Norman snapped, jerking uselessly at the ropes. “He’s not gay, he didn’t fucking do anything, you leave him the fuck alone!”

"He is interfering in our Lord's holy plans!" Moore roared, backhanding Norman across the face. He bent down, yanking the knots tighter around Norman's wrists. "The true test, in our Lord's eyes, would be to keep you here, with sweet Penny. See if your lieutenant chooses you or her."

“He wouldn’t hurt her.” Norman hissed, his face stinging and his wrists aching. “He’s not a sick fucking freak like you. He’s not a fucking pervert.”

"Oh, no, no. To save, Norman. Like you said, he isn't a homosexual." Moore stared at him, gaze fierce. "Who would he choose to save, I wonder? Would he die to save either of you?"

“Her. He’d save her. Because she’s a child.” He spat. “I don’t fucking matter to him. You act like it would be such a difficult decision? It’s not.”

"But still, I wonder..." Moore considered him, and glanced back behind him at the still quietly-sobbing Penny. "No matter. It's not a test I'm willing to risk, if we're being frank. I'm running behind on my list, you see, I still have another two names left for the Church. I was hoping to move more quickly..."

“You won’t get to. I’ll be your last kill. They know who you are. They know it’s you.” Norman‘s wrists were beginning to chafe.

"Ah, but do they know where to find me?" Moore smirked. He moved behind Norman, out of sight, and rustled around looking for something.

“They’ll know.” Norman insisted. “You won’t be able to keep getting away with this shit. You won’t!”

"You cops, you think you're above God, don't you? Think you don't adhere to His plans?" He came back with a roll of duct tape, snapping a length off.

“What are you doing?” Norman heard a tearing sound, trying to crane his neck to see.

Moore stepped back into his line of vision, holding up the piece of duct tape, the roll around his wrist like a bracelet. "I'm bored of this, Norman. Do you have any final words for our God, before I end this?"

Norman’s eyes widened. Fuck. This was it, was it? He was going to die here, by the hands of this vile man. He didn’t want to die. He had his mom, his frogs... “Do you have a phone?” He blurted out.

Moore stared at him, thinking for a long moment. Norman had no idea of their location, and it was entirely likely that the cops were already aware of who he was. "Who do you want to call, Norman?" he asked. "Think carefully."

“My mom.” He lied after a moment of thinking. He’d call Grisham, he’d let him track the call while making Moore think he was speaking to his mother.

Moore eyed him a moment longer, before pulling out his phone. Norman really did seem the type. "What's the number?" he asked, and slydialed it as Norman recited it. The call didn't ring, went straight to voicemail, and he held it to Norman's face.

“Hey mom,” Norman began, looking down at the phone. He took a deep breath. “I- uh- I don’t know where I am. And I’m not gonna be able to see you again. But I was able to make this call, so I decided to call you. I love you. I hope I’ll see you again at some point. Take care of the frogs.”

Moore clicked the end the voicemail, gaze cold and flinty. He slapped the tape over Norman's mouth, retreating again from view. 

At the precinct, Grisham's phone lit up. He almost didn't look at it, focused as he was on his computer screen, split between the bar and hotel security cameras, but Blake smacked his shoulder and pointed. 

"It's Jayden," Blake said urgently. Grisham immediately snatched up the phone, opening the voicemail. The two of them listened to Norman's words with bated breath, confusion flitting over their faces at first until they both realized. 

"Moore's got him," Grisham spat. "Mother*fucker*! He's fucking got him, Carter—"

Blake's face was pale, but his voice was cool and collected. "Don't sit there, trace the fucking call, asshole. He just sent that, we've still got some time." Something cold weighed in his gut at the thought of finding Norman in Dilworth Park. He decided then that that was the last thing he ever wanted to see, and before Grisham could even move he was hooking the cellphone up to the computer and pulling up the proper technology. "We're gonna find him," he muttered, while Grisham watched anxiously.


	13. Chapter 13

"Alright, Norman. I'd say it was a pleasure, but I always hate speaking to you sinful, blasphemous ones. Brandon, he never shut up with it. Cursing our Lord's name and mine, Marlen's, anybody he could think of that he could blame. But it was all his own fault, and I had to cut his sacrilegious tongue out to make him stop. Your bodies are holy, pure, but the soul inside is just so rotten." Moore scowled. He put his hands to Norman's throat, feeling along gently until he had just the right angle to choke the life from his lungs as quickly and efficiently as possible. He was well-practiced by now.

Norman shook his head, yanking himself to knock the chair back onto the floor, falling over with it. He prodded at the tape with his tongue, trying to pry it off.

Moore climbed on top of him, knee on his chest, and backhanded him hard. Above them, Penny was thrashing in her chair, her shrieks audible through the duct tape. "If you have anything left to say to God, I suggest you pray now," Moore growled, hands on Norman's throat again.

Norman scooted back in the chair on the floor, dragging slowly along it. He needed to get to one of his guns. He could use it, could shoot through the ropes if he tried hard enough.

Moore grabbed him by the throat, slamming his head against the floor. "It's useless to fight, Norman!" he spat, slamming his head down again.

Norman groaned, the sound muffled by the tape, pain throbbing in his skull. He lifted his head anyway, slamming it up against Moore’s.

Moore cussed, grabbing a fistful of Norman's hair and bashing his head against the floor so hard blood speckled the concrete, and then again. Penny's wails were getting louder, oddly rhythmic, but Moore paid no attention to it. His hands were full force on Norman's throat, squeezing, watching with cruel satisfaction as his eyelids fluttered and he struggled to breath, air slipping from his lungs with every passing second. Blood spotted the ground beneath his head, soaking in Norman's hair. Moore pressed harder, Norman wheezing faintly beneath the pressure.

The wailing was getting louder, and it wasn't Penny at all but Moore was paying no attention to it, too focused on the way Norman's consciousness was slipping from him, and then the door was busting open and Moore was shouting, bleeding from a bullet wound to the shoulder, and he'd fallen back but Norman was unconscious. Cops flooded the scene; one officer went straight to Penny, pulling the blanket up to cover her body again, feeling her forehead, asking in soft tones if she was alright. Grisham knelt at Norman's side, feeling for a pulse, his face drawn and pale. Blake leveled his gun, stalking towards the downed Moore with Ash at his flank.

"Motherfucker," Blake snarled. "Shouldn't have set up camp so close to a fuckin police station." He didn't look at Penny, nor did he look at Norman, but his face was the same shade of white as Grisham's. Ash yanked Moore up, cuffing him, while Blake pressed the muzzle of his gun to Moore's forehead, finger teasing the trigger. Ash muttered Moore's rights, pulling him away from Blake lest he actually blow the man's brains out, and Blake let the gun drop once he was out of sight. He glanced over at Norman now, joining Grisham at his side. 

"He's alive, just unconscious," Grisham murmured, and Blake helped him lift Norman up. Blake nodded, silent, Norman's deadweight warm against his side. Somehow, in all the chaos and mess of a crime scene, he couldn't held but feel that this was his fault.

—-

Norman woke up in a freakishly white room with his head pounding and his neck aching something terrible. He blinked up at the ceiling, his head and memory fuzzy. He let out a soft groan, closing his eyes once again. He felt absolutely horrid.

"Good morning," said a teasing voice. "Are you awake now, or are you planning to go back to bed?" The voice was familiar, too familiar, so sweet and gentle in its jibes.

Norman turned his head toward the voice, opening his eyes to look at the source and instantly smiling. His mom was sat by his bedside, her expression soft and loving as ever, but he could see the worry she was trying to hide behind it. “Hey, ma.” He said softly. “You drove all the way here?”

"Of course I did, sweetie." She took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. There were ugly bruises around his throat and a bandage around his head, but she ignored them in favor of how handsome her boy was, the love in his eyes and the curve of his smile. She had missed him so much.

He gave her hand a soft squeeze in return. “You didn’t have to come. I’ll be okay. I feel bad you drove all the way here.” He let out a soft laugh.

"No, baby. I love you, how could I not come? That partner of yours called me and said you were hurt. You solved the case, he said, and saved that little girl." She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb, watching his face worriedly.

“Wish we’d saved her sooner,” Norman’s voice grew quieter. “She was with him for weeks. The shit she probably went through...”

"Sweetheart, try not to focus on that, okay? Think about how she's home with her family now, safe and sound, and that man will never be able to get to her or anybody else ever again."

He nodded slowly, trying to ignore the pounding in his head. “I don’t... I don’t really remember much from when I was with him.” He admitted.

"That's the concussion, baby. Don't strain yourself, okay? All you need to know is that you're okay, you'll be out of here in no time, and that I'm here. Your friends are just outside, you know. They're so sweet, once I showed up they stepped out to let me have some privacy with you. You've been in and out of it for a few minutes now, so don't be scared if you're a bit sleepy, okay?"

“Which friends?” Norman’s brows furrowed slightly. Plural. That meant more than just Grisham. Had she brought one of his friends from home or something?

She gave him a confused look. "Elijah and Carter, sweetie. Why, were you hoping for somebody else?"

“Blake is here?” Norman moved to sit up, wincing as he did but succeeding.

"Yes, Norm. I know you two were fighting, but he was very worried about you when I got here." She grabbed his arm, supporting him as he sat up.

“He actually cares?” Norman looked at her in shock, his heart skipping a beat. Blake was actually there?

"Do you want me to go get him, Norm? He should be just outside." She didn't move to get up, though, just stayed with her hand on Norman's arm.

“No, no. That’s okay. I’m just surprised, is all. That he cares.” Norman looked down at his lap.

She looked down, patting his hand. "Alright, baby. I think you have some talking to do, so I'm going to step out for a minute. I'll go get you something to eat, okay?"

“Alright ma. Love you.” He gave her hand one more little squeeze before letting go.

She stood up, heading to the door. A moment after she left, Grisham and Blake entered. Grisham went right to his bedside, but Blake hung back, tense. 

"How you feeling, Jayden?" Grisham asked, sitting down in Norman's mother's vacated chair.

“Not great.” Norman admitted, but he was looking at Blake. He really was there. How long had he been there? It meant he cared about him at least a little bit.

"You look like shit, man," he said casually. "But Moore's going away for good. We've got Pell and Marlen in custody too. Accomplices, co-conspiracy, and obstruction of justice. The works. Penny Lasher's out of the hospital already, back with her family now. She's a strong kid, she'll be alright with some time."

“Good. Thank god she’s alright.” Norman said, still looking at Blake. “He was going to go for you next. He wanted to kill you, Blake.”

"Me?" Blake spoke for the first time, and his voice was raspy. "I get why'd he'd go after you, you're fuckin annoying, but me?" Grisham nudged him, rolling his eyes.

Norman tilted his head, looking at Blake as if he was examining him. He was, in a way. His voice was different. Something was off about his demeanor. “He wanted to see what you’d do.”

"What I would do? Do about what?" Blake asked, befuddled. Grisham's face went neutral, curious to see what was about to happen.

“With the girl.” Norman looked down at his lap, uncomfortable. “If you had to save me or her.” He snorted weakly. “As if there’d be any hesitation in your choice.”

"You're right. There wouldn't be," Blake said slowly. Grisham stood up; he had an idea of where this was going now. 

"I'm gonna go get some coffee. Anybody want anything? No? Okay. Bye. Have fun." He slipped from the room, leaving them alone.

Norman looked after Grisham, brows furrowing in confusion. Why did he leave so abruptly? Norman felt discomfort squirming in the pit of his stomach, shifting his gaze to stare intently down at his lap.

Blake took Grisham's abandoned seat. "Why do you look like that?" Blake murmured, trying and failing to look unbothered.

“What do you mean? Like I got strangled? Probably because Moore tried to murder me.” Norman said bitterly, not looking up.

"No, so fucking miserable. You look like you're gonna hurl, Jayden. What's the problem? ...Is it me?" he added, scowling.

“Maybe it fucking is.” Norman huffed, and that bitterness was still there. Why was Blake even here? To mock him? To taunt him?

"We got there as fast as we could," Blake snapped, misinterpreting his point. "We traced your call as soon as he got it and left immediately. What do you want me to say, Jayden?"

“Oh yeah, Blake. That’s why I’m unhappy with you. Because of the time you helped me. Totally not any of the other fucking shit you’ve done, you asshole.” He snapped back.

"What do you think I would have done?" Blake said suddenly, not quite ignoring what Norman had said, but cataloguing it for later.

“What?” Norman frowned, finally looking up at him.

"You or the girl. What do you think I would have done?" Blake repeated, staring at him.

“The girl.” Norman said immediately. “She’s a child. She has a whole life ahead of her. And you hate me anyway.”

"Yeah, is that it?" He lunged forward and grabbed Norman by the collar of his hospital gown. "You're a fucking idiot, Jayden," Blake snarled, and he kissed him.

Norman froze up, confused. He didn’t understand. Was Blake still fucking with him? In the hospital? He didn’t get it- he didn’t get it, and he felt his eyes getting wet as he pulled away, turning his head so Blake couldn’t see his face. He was in the hospital, and Carter fucking Blake was still trying to mess with him.

"Jayden!" Blake said incredulously as Norman wiped at his eyes. "God, you really are a fucking idiot. What are you crying for?"

“I’m in a fucking hospital and you’re still fucking with me, and damnit I’m fucking sick of it!” Norman raised his voice but still didn’t turn to look at him, his words cracking as he said them.

"Fucking with you?" he echoed. "Jayden, what—"

The door opened, and Norman's mother poked her head in, huge smile on her face. It dripped off her face when she saw them, and without a word she backed out and shut the door. 

Blake shook his head. "Jayden, look at me. Right now."

“I don’t wanna look at you, asshole.” Norman grumbled, voice still wavering. His chest fucking ached.

"I don't care. You're going to look at me, whether you like it or not." Blake waited a moment, and when Norman still didn't look at him, Blake sat on the edge of the bed and turned his face towards him himself. "What the fuck is the problem."

“You! You always trying to fuck with me!” Norman wanted to hit him. “Mocking me by- by kissing me and shit!”

"You think I'm mocking you, asshole? Think I'm fucking with you? I like you, shithead!" Blake all but shouted, quieting down once the words were out there. His breathing stilled, a moment of panic flaring in his gut. He said it. He really said it, it was out there, and he couldn't take it back. He couldn't pretend it wasn't true any longer.

Norman’s eyes went wide and he stared at him. Was he serious? He sounded serious, looked serious... “You- you don’t mean it..” He said quietly, disbelieving.

"If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't fucking be here, asshole," Blake snapped. Now he looked away, hating how he could feel his cheeks flushing.

“You mean it?” He asked, still not fully believing it. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me? Why’d you act like you did?”

"I dunno. I thought I was straight until you," Blake said, shrugging.

“You called me a fag. You left me every time we fucked around. You shoved me on the floor and shouted at me when I kissed you.” Norman listed, visibly upset.

"I'm sorry," Blake murmured. "There's nothing else I can say. I didn't understand, or accept or whatever, I was feeling and lashed out." It was all stuff he had talked over with Grisham.

“I’ve been fucking pining over you.” Norman looked at him, his expression hurt and confused. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

"I know," Blake said simply. He looked back up at him, studying Norman's face.

Blake leaned away from his swat, then moved to sit closer, pushing Norman to lay back down and bending over him, kissing him hard.

Norman let himself relax. He didn’t push him away, didn’t turn away, letting Blake kiss him for a moment before giving in and kissing him back. Blake really needed chapstick, but it still felt good to kiss him. The aching in his chest was subsiding.

Blake pulled away after a moment, looking down at Norman. "Still think I'm fucking with you, asshole?" he muttered, more embarrassed than he'd care to admit.

“Maybe not.” Norman tilted his head, looking at him. He paused for a moment. “Your lips are dry.”

Norman's weren't, they were soft and pliant against his own, but Blake didn't say that. He scowled. "I'll buy some fucking chapstick, then. That make you happy?"

Norman muffled a snort, cheeks flushed as he looked at Blake. “You’re gonna scrape my lips open with your rough fuckin’ lips if you don’t.”

Blake liked the implication that they'd be kissing more. "Screw you. I'd have to be kissing you real fucking hard to do that. I can try, if you want," he sneered, leaning closer to him again.

“Seems like you’re looking for excuses.” Norman teased. He’d almost missed bantering with Blake. And it felt different now, the air between them. Blake was being sincere with him.

"Do I need one?" Blake pulled him up by the front of his gown, kissing him hard.

Norman made a soft, surprised noise that was quickly muffled by Blake’s lips. He melted into the kiss much quicker this time, reaching up to place a hand on Blake’s cheek.

Blake shifted to have Norman lean into him, and one hand went to Norman's lower back. The other grabbed his hair, kissing him harder, desperately. He was only realizing now how badly he had wanted this, after all those agonizing hours of watching Norman across the station, of glaring and dear God, he'd been pining too.

Norman shouldn’t have been kissing him back. He shouldn’t have been forgiving him so easily, but it felt so good to have Blake kissing him like this. It was so good for Blake to admit he wanted him.

They pulled apart for breath, and Blake murmured, "You look good in a hospital gown, Jayden." Now he was screwed, cause he knew if Norman stood up that pretty little ass would be hanging out, and now he was imagining Norman in a short dress, bending over...

“You’ve done quite the one eighty, Lieutenant.” Norman teased softly, placing a kiss on Blake’s cheek. He shouldn’t be forgiving him so easily, part of him was cursing himself for it, but it was overwhelmed by the part of him that had been pining after him.

"How's your head?" Blake asked, choosing to ignore that remark. He carded his fingers through Norman's tousled bedhead, mindful of the wrapped bandage. Something about this felt so nice, just touching him innocently while Norman leaned against him, his weight warm.

“It’s alright. Still kinda hurts.” Norman admitted with a grimace. “Fucker slammed it against the floor a lot.”

"You know, for all the times you came crawling back to the station all fucked up, I thought you'd be more used to it," Blake sneered, nudging Norman back so he could study his face.

“Didn’t get a concussion any of those times.” Norman tilted his head, looking at Blake. His expression twisted a bit. He didn’t want to argue, but... They couldn’t just act like everything was okay. “And I wouldn’t have gotten so fucked up if you’d been a competent partner and I’d been able to bring you places.”

Blake grimaced. He stood up, taking a step away. He tried to say the words, framed them with his lips, but they wouldn't come. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. He couldn't say it, and he couldn't look at him. He felt hot and embarrassed, itching for an escape from this incoming conversation. "You were a shithead fed, what did you want from me?" he growled, not looking at him.

Norman’s expression grew more bitter. “You didn’t even fucking know me.” His voice cracked slightly. “You just hated me for no fucking reason.”

"No!" Blake snapped, a spark of old rage reigniting. "You were proof that I couldn't--" He ground his teeth, scowling. "A fed they brought in to solve a case that I'd worked on for years, and you got it done in a fuckin' week."

“It wasn’t my choice to come to Philly. I was assigned to come here, and was instantly treated like fucking shit. By you, and by Perry, and then everyone else. I wanted to help. I wanted to help because I had the damn technology and the skills, but you wouldn’t let me, Blake!”

"How would you fuckin feel, huh? Some new kid shows up with the fanciest toys and just shows you up, makes you look like a fucking incompetent cunt! I'm a fucking lieutenant, asshole! It was my case to solve, I didn't want you there!"

Hurt flashed across Norman’s expression. “Maybe I would’ve been fuckin’ happier not having to be there either. Maybe I missed my fuckin’ mom and my frogs and my house, and maybe I was so damn lonely because you made it impossible for me to befriend anyone in the station.” Blake was talking about the case as if it didn’t have children’s lives on the line, as if it were some sort of race.

"Then why did you stay?" Blake spit, whirling to face him now. "You could have gone home! But you stayed, and you came to my house, and kissed me. You fucking cared about me, why?"

“I fucking like you.” Norman’s voice wavered and he looked angrily down at his lap. “Even though you’ve only ever treated me like shit.”

"But why?" Blake roared. "That's not an answer!" He wanted Norman to fucking look at him, but at the same time could barely stand to see the look on his face. He felt like an asshole, such an asshole, but he had to get it out and he couldn't stop it now.

Norman closed his eyes, his face scrunching up. He wanted to cry. His head already hurt, and the yelling was making it worse, and now his chest was aching all over again and he felt sick and upset. He didn’t want to answer Blake. He didn’t know. He wished he didn’t like him how he did, after how he’d treated him.

"I need an answer, Jayden!" Blake snapped, and then the door burst open and Grisham stood in the frame. 

"Carter, get out," he barked, and when Blake didn't immediately move, Grisham lunged forward and hauled him bodily from the room. He slammed it shut behind him, and regarded Norman with a perfectly neutral expression. "If it helps, he is sorry. He's just... He doesn't know how to express himself constructively, you know? And instead of confronting himself, he lashes out at you because to be honest, Jayden, you're an easy target." Grisham shrugged. "But, I'm sure you'd rather hear all that from him. You alright?"

“I’m fine.” Norman answered quietly after a few moments of silence. He wasn’t, he didn’t feel fine at all, but he didn’t want to discuss it. An easy target, huh? Lovely to know that was how others saw him.

"No, you're not. But you don't want to talk to me either, right? Your mom went to see if you could be discharged soon, otherwise I'd get her for you." Grisham sighed, sinking down into the long-vacated chair. "I'm sure you'd like to know that Moore assaulted the guards as they changed his cell. Claimed they were hindering God's plan, I guess. I just got the call."

“I’m sure they got him locked back up anyway, right?” Norman was wringing his hands in his lap, trying to distract himself from the hurt. “Piece of shit...”

"Yeah, of course." Grisham leaned against the side of Norman's bed, watching him. "So, what're you thinking? Gonna stick around for a bit, or head back to DC as soon as you're cleared?"

“Don’t know. Blake doesn’t exactly seem like he wants something serious, and I’m too old to be staying in a different state for a fling.” He looked over at Grisham.

"Man, you're what, thirty?" Grisham shook his head, but couldn't help the grin on his face. "Honestly, man, do what's best for you. I have to say, you've grown on me. I'd miss you, Jayden."

“I’d miss you too.” Norman admitted with a sheepish little smile. “And I’m thirty four. Not thirty.”

"Oh, so it's only a fourteen year age gap? That's a lot better," Grisham joked. "If you do decide to stay, though, you could stay on as my partner..."

“You’re easier to work with than Blake, that’s for sure.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I’ll probably go back to Washington.” He felt his heart clench a little as he said it.

Grisham nodded quietly. "I can't say I'm surprised. Can I ask— did you only stay cause of him?"

“Yeah.” Norman admitted quietly, nodding his head. “It was fucking stupid. I should’ve just gone home right when I finished the Origami Killer case.”

"It wasn't stupid," Grisham said. "You're not at fault here. Carter is. I promise, he'll come around."

“I don’t have time to wait for him to come around.” Norman looked back down at his lap.

"No? What else you got going on, man? Your mom's here, I'm pretty damned sure she brought the frogs, cause she smelled a little froggy when she gave me a hug outside." He jerked his thumb towards the door. "So, what's the hurry back?"

He snorted. “She would bring the frogs. I love her.” He shook his head, a slight smile growing on his lips and then quickly fading. “There’s no point in me staying in Philly.”

"Maybe, maybe not. I want you here, at least, and he does too, he's just up his own ass right now. At the very least, you two need to talk before you leave."

“He can’t talk without yelling some shit at me.” Norman huffed. “Always loses his fuckin’ temper.”

"Then I'll tape his mouth and let you talk at him. He can listen, and actually think about what you're saying before he can say shit."

“I don’t think he ever thinks about anything.” Norman joked with a little snort. “And you know it’s true.”

"Yeah," Grisham admitted. "He's a stubborn ass. Still... Promise me you won't leave, unless you at least try?"

“I’ll try.” Norman agreed, turning to look at him with a little grin. “A week or so ago you’d have been begging me to leave as soon as possible.”

"A week or so ago, you weren't the best partner I've ever had," Grisham said. "And the coolest," he added, "with those fancy ass glasses."

“It’s not that great. I mean, if I’m not at a crime scene, it just does what a normal computer could do. On the scene it can scan fingerprints and shit, but... it could be better.” It could not give him brain damage, or require a dangerous drug to use.

"Hey, man, it does more than these do." Grisham gestured to his eyes, crinkled up at the corners in amusement.

Norman forced a laugh. It wasn’t like he could talk about what ARI did to him. “Yeah, I guess so.”

"Speaking of, you've just gotten a package, back at the station. Perry told me to let you know, he called while I was outside." Grisham shrugged. "From your fed friends."

“A package?” Normans brows furrowed. What the fuck would the FBI be sending him? Tripto? That wouldn’t make sense.

"Maybe it's a present, for your good work. I dunno, I've been here." Grisham stood up, heading around to the other side of Norman's bed to draw the window blinds up. Sunlight filtered through, falling across Norman's face. "There you go. It was dark in here."

Norman squinted a little, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light. “Maybe I liked it dark.” He joked.

"With all that time you spend in your closet of an office? I wouldn't doubt it." But Grisham didn't close the blinds. He went to Norman's side, lifting his head to check the bandage, his fingers feather-light around the wound. He stuffed pillows behind Norman's back to support him sitting up, and returned to his own seat. "How are you feeling?"

“Honestly? Like shit.” Norman shrugged a little. “My head still hurts and Blake sure didn’t help. But I’ll be fine.”

Grisham nodded, giving him another once-over glance. "How about I go find your mom, and we can see about getting you out of here? I'm sure you'd be more comfortable in a hotel bed."

“Yeah man. Thank you.” Norman said, resting his head back on the pillow with a sigh. Hotel or hospital, he wasn’t gonna rest very well.


	14. Chapter 14

Blake stood on the other side of the hotel door, glaring at the little golden number. He knew Norman was inside, could hear the soft sound of television, but he hesitated to knock. Grisham had yelled at him for so damned long after the scene in the hospital, and Blake was chastised enough to recognize that he was wrong. Wrong in the moment, with Norman injured like that. He should have held his tongue, but he had never been great at self control. 

He let his fist fall, knocking firm on the door and taking a step back, staring, waiting for the knob to turn.

Norman woke up at the knocking, looking blearily up at the door and waiting to see if he heard it again. He let out a soft groan when it did. He was in bed, curled up small under the blankets, and getting up felt like a chore. He was only in his boxers so he took one of the blankets- a soft green one his mom had knitted- and wrapped it around his shoulders before going to the door, yawning as he opened it. 

He blinked, confused as his eyes focused. “Blake?”

Blake's eyes dragged over Norman's body. Every time he saw him, he was surprised by the toned muscles shaping his lean little body, but he supposed there had to be some strength there for him to be any sort of competent agent. Right now, with his hair tousled and eyes drooping with sleep, the muscles and lines of his body were all soft and relaxed. 

"Norman," he greeted, voice steady. "Can I come in?"

Norman stood there for a second in silence before the words processed. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. Sure.” He turned and went back into the room, moving to sit criss-cross on the bed with the blanket still draped over him. “Did you need something?”

"Yeah, I wanted to talk to you." Blake paced a loop in front of the bed, unable to take his eyes off Norman, whose eyes tracked him sleepily. He stopped, gazing down at him. "I wanted to say— I'm sorry," he said, the words excruciating to bite out.

Norman looked surprised, eyes widening a little bit. Wait... really? “You’re sorry?” He repeated, with no bite to his tone. “You mean it?”

"Yeah," he said awkwardly. "Yeah, I do. I didn't mean it, what I said." It wasn't even Grisham's scolding driving him, it was his own stewed upon guilt.

Norman tilted his head, then looked down at the spot next to him on the bed. “Do you want to sit?”

Blake nodded, sitting beside him without much hesitation. He glanced at Norman, taking in the bedhead curls and droopy eyes, the wrinkled pillow imprint on his left cheek. Fuck, he was cute as shit like this. He wanted to kiss him.

“It’s okay.” Norman said softly, after a moment. “I mean, I accept it. Your apology.”

"Just like that?" Blake asked doubtfully. He had expected Norman to say nothing, just shoo him out, but here he was having him sit beside him, accepting it. Just like that.

Norman did a little shrug, even moving a little to lean against Blake. “Yeah. I can only imagine how hard it was for you to learn how to say the word ‘sorry’.” He let out a sleepy little laugh.

Blake swallowed, the weight of Norman warm and pleasant against him. "Your mom helped me with that a bit," he said, grimacing. "Had a nice chat with me in the hospital the other day."

He let out another laugh at that. “She would. I’m not surprised. She didn’t scare you too much, I hope?”

"Nah, she didn't scare me," Blake lied. It was tough not to be at least nervous when a tiny little lady was in your face, threatening to rally up her pissed-off posse of FBI moms to attack.

“Sure.” Norman teased, resting his head on Blake’s shoulder. He was warm, and he was being gentle, and Norman wanted to be close to him.

Blake wrapped his arm around Norman's side, then thought better of it and turned sideways to face him. Norman's face was puzzled as Blake tipped his chin up—how was he still so sleep-hazy?—and kissed him gently.

Norman made a soft sound, almost like a fucking purr, and kissed him back. Blake’s lips were softer- Norman wondered if he’d put on some chapstick as he’d suggested. He let his eyes flutter shut, melting into the kiss.

Emboldened by Norman's responsiveness, Blake leaned into him and kissed him just a touch harder. He slid his tongue against Norman's lips, asking silently for permission as his hands gripped Norman's waist.

Norman parted his lips, allowing Blake access, reaching out to drape his arms over his shoulders, the blanket sliding off of his own with the movement.

Blake nudged Norman back so he fell back against the mattress, moving to hover over him. He dipped his head, deepening the kiss with his hands sliding down Norman's waist to his hips, ghosting over the waistband of his boxers.

Norman gasped softly, moving his arms to wrap around Blake’s middle instead now. He spread his legs, letting Blake move between them. Little goosebumps rose on his skin as he felt his hands on him, and he let out a breathy laugh. “You’ve got cold hands, Blake.”

"Maybe you can warm them up for me?" he murmured, his hands sliding down Norman's thighs. He kissed along Norman's throat, nipping gently at the soft skin.

Norman moaned softly, tipping his head to the side. “Yeah.” He spread his legs a little more.

Blake's hands wandered into the warm crooks of Norman's inner thighs, pressing his fingers against him, brushing around the heat of his groin.

“You’re wearin’ too much.” Norman murmured, reaching to work at the buttons of Blake’s shirt.

"Take it off, then, baby," Blake purred, teasing his fingers just a bit closer. It was warm between Norman's legs, and the fabric of his boxers was soft.

Norman managed to get Blake’s shirt unbuttoned fairly quick, working with him to pull the damn thing off and then reaching a hand between them, tracing the lines of his abs. Blake may not have been young, but he sure fucking kept himself in good shape.

Blake hissed in pleasure, grabbing the waistband of Norman's boxers and sliding them down. "You're a fucking twink," he groaned, raking his gaze down Norman's body.

He laughed, cheeks flushing a little. “Are you complaining?” He teased, cock practically smacking against his own stomach as it was freed from its confines.

"No, fuck no," Blake breathed, pushing Norman's legs further apart. "You're fucking gorgeous." His round little ass was just begging for it; he wanted to turn him over and spank him raw again, but he wasn't sure if Norman was in the mood for much more than teasing right now.

Norman’s cheeks flushed darker as he looked up at Blake, a little grin playing on his lips. “You’re still wearing too much. I’m here naked, and you’re still in those stupid jeans.”

"Why don't you take 'em off me, then?" Blake looked back down at him, his cock hard in his jeans. It twitched at the thought of Norman's hands moving lower.

His suggestion was eagerly obliged, and Norman quickly reached down to unbutton Blake’s jeans and push them down, letting boxers be pulled down with them. His own cock twitched at the sight of Blake’s, hard and thick and flushed.

"Fuck," Blake groaned, rolling his hips against Norman's hand. "Shit, Jayden, I want you. Wanna fucking wreck you, you look so fucking good..." He looked so soft, almost innocent with his eager eyes and ruffled hair, and Blake wanted nothing more than to destroy him.

“Please.” Norman reached out to the nightstand, yanking the drawer open and pulling out a bottle of lube that he’d brought with him from fucking Washington.

"All prepared, just for me?" Blake teased, taking the bottle of lube and dropping it to the bed beside them. He grabbed Norman's thighs and dragged them up to sandwich his head, lapping his tongue over Norman's twitching hole.

Norman yelped in surprise, squirming a little bit. Oh. That felt good. Blake’s tongue on him felt fucking good, his attention felt good, his calloused hands on his skin... “Blake..”

Blake probed his tongue past the tight ring of muscle, squeezing his soft thighs. He gazed down at Norman's face as he ate his ass, wanting to see every flicker of pleasure that crossed his face.

Norman hadn’t gotten any less noisy in the time since they’d last fucked, and his eyelids fluttered shut as he let out small, breathy moans.

Blake's eyes narrowed in pleasure, grazing his teeth along the sensitive rim. His cock was achingly hard and Norman was tight around just his tongue. He shifted his weight back, letting one hand fall to grab his own dick with the other supporting Norman's weight against him.

Norman made a soft, pleased sound at the feeling of Blake’s tongue inside him. “More- more, please...”

"More what, Jayden?" Blake pulled back enough to ask, licking a stripe over his hole and spitting on him. Arousal spiked at the sight of Norman's spit-wet little hole, practically begging for him.

“Fingers, your cock, I want you.” Norman insisted, his own cock dribbling precome onto his belly. He wanted Blake to fuck him.

Blake dipped his head back down, pressing a sloppy kiss to Norman's ass before snatching up the lube, slicking his fingers. He slid the first against him, watching hungrily as Norman's ass sucked it right in. Blake pushed his second finger against his rim, easing in slow.

Norman whined softly, opening his eyes to look down at Blake. He wanted to wrap his legs around his waist as he fucked him, to pull him close and kiss him, to muffle his moans with his lips. “I- ah- I can take two, Blake.”

Blake obliged, pushing the second finger inside. "You're tight, baby. So beautiful like this, I wanna fuck you." That was an understatement; he was so turned on his cock was flushed a ruddy red, throbbing between his legs.

“You’re in luck, ‘cause I wanna be fucked.” Norman teased in response, his voice quickly breaking off into a moan as he stretched to take in the second finger.

"What about three?" he asked, curling the two fingers inside him. He wanted to watch Norman's face as he hit that spot.

“Almost- I’ll be able to in- ah! Blake! Fuck-!” Norman’s head fell back onto the pillow as Blake’s fingers found his prostate, pushing right up against it.

"There it is," he breathed, easing in the third finger while Norman quivered and moaned. He grazed again over his prostate, teasing.

Norman’s back arched up a little, as best it could with his legs folded as they were, and he let out a breathy moan. “There, that’s- there, Blake, fuck!”

"We'll get to that," Blake murmured. He splayed his fingers, stretching Norman's hole, and slipped the third the rest of the way in.

It was a bit of a stretch, a little uncomfortable, and yet it wasn’t enough. He wanted Blake inside him. His cock inside him. He whined quietly, squirming a little.

"What's the matter?" Blake drawled, all too aware of his little cockslut's desires. "Is it too much? Want me to stop?"

“No!” Norman lifted his head a little, giving Blake a playful dirty look. “I did not say that.”

"Oh, then... You want more?" He pressed his fingers against Norman's prostate, making him squirm.

“B-Blake!” He cried out. It felt so good, but he wanted more than just his fingers. “Don’t tease!”

"Tell me what you want, babe, and I'll give it to you," Blake murmured, latching his lips to Norman's soft inner thigh, sucking a dark bruise.

“Want you to fuck me.” Norman insisted, whimpering at the feeling of Blake’s mouth on him. “Please.”

"But that's what I'm doing, isn't it?" Blake twisted his fingers, curling them tantalizingly again. "Or, do you want more than my fingers?"

“I said fuck me, not finger me!” He protested. “Your dick, you dumbass-“ He cut off as he felt fingers on his prostate, crying out again.

Blake pulled them away cruelly, sliding his fingers free altogether. "You should have just said so, babe, I'm so fucking hard..." He nipped just as hard at the tender skin of his thighs, letting Norman's hips drop back to the bed. He grabbed him, dragging their hips flush together so the head of his cock teased against his hole.

“You’re still teasing.” Norman whined, reaching up to drape his arms over Blake’s shoulders, pulling him down closer.

"You're complaining?" Blake pushed into him slow, letting Norman adjust to his girth as he moved.

“I- ah-“ He lifted his head, pressing his lips to Blake’s in a heated kiss. He felt himself stretching to accommodate him, a little bit of discomfort but mostly just the delightful feeling of fullness.

"Fuck," Blake groaned, squeezing Norman's hips. He eased in the rest of the way, settling his hips against Norman's. "How's it feel, Jayden?"

“Big. Full.” Norman murmured against his lips, eyes shut. “Don’t- don’t move too much yet.”

"I won't," Blake promised, stroking his skin softly. He ghosted his fingers near Norman's groin, teasing around the base of his cock.

Norman whimpered in response, cock twitching, a little bead of precome dribbling out and joining with the rest smeared on his belly. “Blake...” He kissed him again.

"Tell me when," he mumbled, nipping at Norman's lip with just the barest tug of teeth.

He rolled his hips slowly as promised, watching Norman's face for any sign of discomfort or pain. He looked so good, felt even better around his cock, and if he could spend the rest of his life fucking him, he'd be a lucky guy.

Norman gasped, shifting to wrap his legs around Blake’s waist. “It’s good. It’s good, Blake, fuck.” It didn’t take long for him to adjust, not after he’d been fingered for what seemed like forever. “More.”

"Tell me what you want me to do, Jayden," Blake purred, grinding against him. His cock dragged deliciously inside him, Norman's ass twitching around him.

“You’re such an ass.” Norman whined, squirming underneath him. “Fuck me already, Blake.”

"You want it hard, baby?" He'd give it to him. He pulled out slow, and thrust back in with a snap of his hips.

“Plea- ah!” Norman’s words turned into a cry as Blake moved. “Fuck, please, please..” He wanted Blake to fucking raw him, to ruin him, to fuck him until he couldn’t think and then hold him afterward.

Blake smirked and thrust harder, driving his hips against Norman's. He gripped his hips, determined to leave bruises in his wake, so Norman could look at himself in the mirror and think of him.

Norman’s back arched and he reached for Blake, pulling him down for another kiss, heated and needy. He adjusted his legs to wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer.

Blake's tongue was in Norman's mouth, his cock thrusting faster, harder and he was swallowing down Norman's little mewls and moans. Norman's cock was trapped between them, sliding wet against Blake's abs with every thrust.

Norman’s hips jerked in time with each thrust, his own cock throbbing and aching to be touched. He was moaning into the kiss, into Blake’s mouth, glad to be able to muffle the loud and obscene noises he was making. It felt so good, his eyes rolling back, toes curling as one particular thrust slammed against his prostate.

Blake pulled back, putting a hand on Norman's chest to hold himself steady as he rammed into him. "I wanna hear you, Jayden," he said lowly, keeping his thrusts aimed at his prostate.

Norman’s eyes stayed rolled back, lips parted as soft little huffs and moans came out, the moans growing in volume as Blake’s cock continued to ram against his prostate. He was practically seeing stars. “Ah- ah- Carter- Carter, fuck, fuck-“ He cursed.

"That's it, baby, scream my name..." he hissed, the way his name rolled off Norman's lips sending waves of arousal spiking in his belly.

Norman’s mind vaguely processed that he’d never used Blake’s first name before except to yell at him, but he didn’t care. Carter. It felt better to say, it felt more intimate. “Touch me, Carter, please..” He begged, his cock twitching against his belly.

"No, I don't think so. I want you coming untouched, fucking screaming for me. I want noise complaints," Blake groaned. He did, however, run his hands down Norman's slim sides to grab his hips again, and he pulled out to flip Norman over onto his belly. He pulled his hips up and thrust back in a smooth move, angling towards his sweet spot.

“P-please-!” Norman hid his face in the pillow, muffling his almost-scream as Blake quickly found his prostate once again. He pushed his ass back against him, practically begging for more.

"Fucking slut," he spat. "No, come on, I wanna hear you J— Norman." He pulled the pillow away and threw it aside.

His next cry was obscenely loud, needy and embarrassing and higher pitched. It felt so good, tears were beading in his eyes, his breath coming out in pants. He gripped the sheets in his fists.

"Norman," he panted, gazing down at him. His hands in the sheets, his hips working back against his thrusts and the round, soft flesh of his ass. "You close? Want you to come for me..."

“A-almost- please touch me!” Norman begged again, pushing as ass back to meet his thrusts. His cock was grinding against the bed, smearing precome onto the sheets. He was close, the constant pressure hitting on his prostate driving him insane.

Blake conceded, reaching out to grab his cock. He gave him a few firm strokes, thrusting hard and grinding against his prostate in time with it. "Come on, baby, come on Norman..."

Norman fell apart the second Blake’s hand stroked his cock, crying out as he came, clenching around him and grabbing the sheets in his fists. “C-Carter- Carter-“ He gasped, body trembling. He was seeing stars, vision going blank, his hearing even going fuzzy. It felt so good. It was so fucking good.

Blake didn't stop, pushing him flat to the mattress with his hips hiked up. He leaned over him, moving faster. He worked Norman's cock in his hand, coaxing him up again.

Norman whined into the mattress, body sensitive and overstimulated, not even given time to really come down or recover from his orgasm. Blake fucked him through it and was still fucking him, hitting his prostate again and again, stroking his cock in time with his thrusts as his cock twitched weakly at the attention. It was almost too much, and it had Norman practically screaming into the mattress.

"Louder!" He tugged gently at Norman's hair. He was getting close himself, he could feel it, but not quite. He was gonna get Norman over the edge again, wanted him to cry for how good it was.

Norman gasped, squirming and clenching around him. Even the tugging at his hair didn’t bother him, it felt good even. He could hear the arousal in Blake’s voice. He could tell the man was just as turned on as him. “C-Carter-“ He gasped, wanting nothing more than to let him pound him into the mattress, to fuck him until his whole body felt like jelly and he could just melt onto the mattress, basking in the afterglow.

"You're not gonna be able to walk when I'm done," he swore. "I want you fucking screaming, c'mon—!" He thrust against his prostate and spanked him for good measure.

He was already nearly screaming, and if he got any louder he was sure even his boss in Washington would be able to hear. The spank sent him reeling- it wasn’t even that hard, but it stung and it felt good, and mixed with everything else it had his head spinning. “Carter, Carter, please,” He babbled, barely coherent, “It’s so much, I- fuck-“ His cock was growing hard again.

"Please what, baby?" Blake hissed into his ear. "Tell me what you need... Harder, faster? Do you need me deeper?" He teased at Norman's cock, scraping his nails feather-light along his shaft.

“Yes, please, please.” Norman begged, biting down on his lower lip and letting out a desperate whine.

Blake pulled Norman's hips up further and pulled his hair, leaning his stance to thrust down into him with renewed vigor. He cried out against the mattress, his pretty little slut, and Blake groaned low in his throat. He was close, fucking close, but he didn't want to cum until he had Norman writhing and screaming for him.

The headboard was slamming against the wall by that point, and they were sure to get a noise complaint. Apparently the nice hotel the FBI has set Norman up in didn’t have beds made for rigorous fucking. He was crying out, but his words were incoherent, a mix of curses and ‘Carter’ and ‘please.’

"Norman," he grunted, "fuck..." He stroked Norman's cock in a tight fist, hard again and slick with his previous ejaculate.

It was probably for the best that he was grabbing the sheets, because he would’ve broken the skin on Blake’s back if he’d been holding onto him. His cheeks were flushed, breath coming out in pants. He was already getting close again, the overstimulation driving him absolutely mad.

"Careful baby, you're gonna rip those sheets..." Blake teased, but his voice lacked the bite in his lust-heavy tone. They were already ruined anyways. He squeezed Norman's hip with his free hand, holding him steady.

“I’m gonna- I can’t- Carter-“ Norman’s voice was shaky, desperate, pitched higher than usual. He was going to cum, and soon if Blake kept fucking him like this and stroking his cock.

"Can't what, Norman?" Blake murmured. He spanked him again, hard, and lurched him forward with an equally hard thrust.

“It’s so much..” He moaned, yelping as Blake’s cock once again slammed into his prostate, as his palm hit sharply against his ass. “I’m gonna cum- I’m gonna- again, I’m so close...” He trailed off, writhing and squirming and pushing his ass back toward Blake.

"Come on, baby... C'mon, Norman..." Blake groaned. He was so fucking close himself, barely holding on as Norman quivered and moaned beneath him.

Norman moaned louder, an incoherent stream of words and curses, tensing and clenching then practically melting into the sheets as he came. There were spots in his vision, a ringing in his ears, his whole body fucking trembling from the force.

Blake managed one last stuttered thrust before he was spilling into him with a strangled groan. He slowly let go of Norman's hip, finger-shaped bruises already bloomed, and they sank boneless to the mattress. Blake's softening cock slipped free of Norman's hole. He lifted his hand, covered in Norman's cum, to his lips and as Norman watched, he licked it clean.

Norman made a soft noise, rolling onto his side to face Blake, his own face flushed and eyes half-lidded. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “That was good.” He murmured.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Blake said softly, their lips moving together lazily. He touched Norman's side and caressed the smooth skin, pulling Norman closer to him.

Norman’s heart did a little flip and he shifted on the bed, throwing a leg over Blake’s hip, snuggling up against him. “You’re not easy to psychoanalyze, you know that?” He teased gently.

"Whadya mean by that?" Blake muttered. He wrapped his arm around Norman, holding him close and securely to his chest.

“I mean you’re weird.” Norman rested his head on the pillow, looking at him. “Just... how you are right now. I’d never have expected it based on how you’ve acted before.”

Blake was quiet for a minute. He felt a twinge of guilt for dragging Norman through the mud for so long, but couldn't summon the words to express it. He was saved by the ringing of the phone.

Norman groaned in annoyance. The phone was on the nightstand on his side, and he didn’t want to untangle himself from Blake. “Do you think it’s a noise complaint?”

"With how loud you are? Definitely," Blake snickered, spanking him gently as Norman reluctantly climbed over him to reach it.

Norman shot him a playfully annoyed look as he picked up the phone. “Hello?”

His expression changed as he listened, making occasional noises of acknowledgement, his brows furrowed and lips drawn in a tight line. He sat up, turning from Blake and talking quietly into the phone. It was a fairly brief call, but it felt like a long time before he hung up the phone and looked back at Blake. 

“Um..” He looked down at his lap. “I’m moving to Philadelphia.”

"What?" Blake sat up. "Like, now? Permanently? Why?" Was that his mother on the phone? His landlord kicking him out?

“They want me to.” Norman’s voice was soft, and even he sounded confused and a bit upset. “I’ve helped solve two high profile cases. There’s a satellite office in Philly that want me working at, along with helping the police department.” It meant he’d have to leave Washington, leave the house he rented next to his mother’s.

"What, the feds? They reassigned you?" What the fuck? "Don't you get a say?" If Blake's higher-ups ever tried to forcibly reassign him, he would be out the door in a second. To just call and inform Norman seemed so disrespectful.

“I could probably argue...” Norman admitted with a little shrug, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s not worth it. It’s only, what, three hours away? It kinda sucks, but... I guess it’s fine.”

"If you don't want to, you don't have to," Blake said. He scooted to lean against the headboard, watching Norman's face. "Fuck, man, that's bullshit."

“I’m gonna have to move. There’s a house next to my mom’s, one of those houses that’s split into apartments, you know? And I lived on the lower half of it. Now I’m gonna have to move out, and I’ll have to drive to see her.” He let out a soft, somewhat sad laugh, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Well... She could move up here, if you don't want to fight it," Blake suggested. "She liked Philly when you were showing her around, didn't she?"

Norman lifted his head, looking at Blake. ”Yeah, but we’ve always lived near DC. I don’t want her to have to move just for me. She’s lived in that house since I was a baby.”

"Oh. Well..." Blake thought for a second. "It's only a few hours, then. Close enough for a weekend trip, anyways."

"I'm guessing you'll need a truck?" Blake wrapped his arm around him again, kissing his neck. "Ash's got one. He'd let you borrow it if you ask nicely."

“Ash is an asshole.” Norman mumbled, snuggling up closer to him. It felt nice, and Blake was warm. “This also means I have to drive a bunch more.” He didn’t dislike driving, but... he preferred to be the passenger most of the time.

"If you ask really nice, maybe he'll drive you down," Blake teased. Norman's legs were twining with his and it was nice, but his feet were cold so Blake stretched his toes out and snagged the blanket, tugging it up to throw over them.

“I don’t want to spend two and a half hours with him, thanks.” Norman snorted, turning to press a kiss to the corner of Blake’s mouth, just barely avoiding his lips. He didn’t need to get all distracted again and end up risking more noise complaints.

"Maybe you could find somebody else to go with you, then," Blake drawled. "But I don't know who... Maybe Grisham?"

“Or maybe I’ll just taxi my way down and suck dick to pay for it.” Norman looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"You know, I think I know somebody who might take you up on that offer," Blake smirked back.

“Oh, do you?” Norman tilted his head, looking at him with a curious expression. “Who would that be?”

"Oh, he's right nearby. He could even collect the payment now," Blake went on, purposely meandering.

Norman raised an eyebrow yet again. “Well damn, I better get dressed and go find him, huh?” He jokingly moved to get up.

"Fuckin bitch. Get back here!" Blake grabbed him by the waist and yanked him back so Norman fell to Blake's chest. "You're not going anywhere, he's right here. I'm right here."

Norman laughed, turning his head to look at Blake, his cheeks flushed pink. “Well, why didn’t you say so then, Carter?” The way he was looking at him put butterflies in Norman’s stomach.

"I thought it was obvious. I forgot you were a fucking idiot," Blake teased, though Norman was far from being the idiot in the relationship, whatever relationship that was.

“Didn’t know if you could get it up again after we just fucked. You’re an old man after all.” Norman teased right back, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"Old man?" Blake echoed, eyes narrowing. "I'm not old until I need viagra to make you scream like that."

Norman laughed, eyes bright as he grinned up at him. “What, did I hit a sore spot, old guy?”

"Oh, something'll be sore, but it won't be me," Blake said, smirking. He flipped them over, pressing Norman back to the mattress. "I mean, since you're stuck here anyways..."

“Plan on taking advantage of the situation?” Norman teased. “Or am I just making my taxi payments in advance?”

"I'll collect payment on the way, how about that? I'd prefer to just take advantage of you right now," Blake purred. He dipped his head and kissed him.

”Getting a blowjob on the road is unsafe. What if we get pulled over for reckless driving?” Norman pulled away to talk and then kissed him again.

"Then I guess we'd have some explaining to do back at the station," Blake said, snickering. "Either that, or I'll have to be real good keeping my eyes on the road and not on you."

“Good luck with that.” He nipped playfully at his lower lip. “You like looking at me.”

"How could I not?" Blake murmured, brushing his lips against Norman's. "You're gorgeous."

“Mm...” Norman grinned at him, tilting his head. “Let’s get on with it then.”


	15. Chapter 15

Norman carried in the final box, plopping it on the floor of Blake’s living room with a huff of annoyance. He looked up at him, appreciating the rolled up sleeves that showed off his arms. “Alright. That’s all of it. Thanks for helping me.” He leaned in, giving him a peck on the lips. 

It had been a week or so since the news of his relocation, and they’d talked about having Norman stay at Blake’s house while he looked for his own place. He could sleep on the couch, but they both knew they’d be sharing the bed. It was plenty big enough for the both of them. 

"Of course." Blake scooped him up, holding Norman easily in his arms. "Don't get too settled though," he teased, dropping him down onto the bed so he bounced. He scooped up the closest box and started pulling books free, completing disregarding his own words as he started shelving them.

Norman snorted, sitting up and watching him. “What, are you gonna clear out a drawer for me too?” He teased back. The drive had been good. The past week had been good. Seeing his own stuff being put into place alongside Blake’s felt good.

"And half the closet," he said casually. "Who knows how long your ass'll have to stay here? Unless you'd rather stay with Charlene...? She did offer," Blake said, glancing back at him with a coy little smirk.

“I’d probably stay every night here anyway, to make sure you don’t use your fuckin’ fleshlight that you’re too lazy to clean.” Norman laughed and picked up a pillow, tossing it at him.

"Stay away from that, you fuckin asshole," Blake retorted, swatting the pillow to the ground. "You been going through my drawers already? Nosy little bitch."

Norman tipped his head back at laughed again, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. “I think you mean our drawers, at the rate you seem to be going.”

"Not that drawer. That one's mine." Blake was smiling though, busying himself with the books so he didn't have to think too much about how goddamned pretty Norman was.

“Oh? Do you have more pocket pussies in there?” Norman hopped up off the bed, heading over to the dresser. He paused as he reached it. There was a framed photo on top of it, a picture of what was obviously Blake with who Norman assumed had to be his family. Two siblings- he’d heard of the older sister from Blake himself, and Ash had told him of the younger brother. There were also two older people, who Norman assumed to be his parents. They all looked happy. 

He looked away, instead going to open one of Blake’s drawers. It was a lucky guess, and he found the fleshlight on top of a bunch of socks. He held it up and snickered, looking pointedly at Blake.

"Didn't anybody tell you not to go through the sock drawer?" Blake walked over and snatched it from Norman's hand. "Jeez, Jayden, why don't you pull out your glasses too?"

“Ill pass. I don’t want to analyze your sperm.” Norman leaned in, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Anything else I’m gonna find in the drawer?”

"Oh, just the lube. Some condoms. Extra large, of course," he added, just to make sure Norman knew. "Not that you like those."

Norman snorted and rolled his eyes. “You don’t like them either, asshole.” As if Blake needed to brag about his dick size after Norman had had it in his ass.

"Yeah, but you like me filling you up," Blake murmured, stepping closer to him, backing him against the dresser.

“We have unpacking to do.” Norman teased, draping his arms over Blake’s shoulders and pulling him even closer. “We need to fill your drawers.”

"Fill them? Thought we were clearing one out for you." He gave Norman a quick kiss and ducked out of his arms, yanking a drawer open. It was stocked with loosely folded shirts, all haphazardly stuffed in. He started pulling them out, tossing them to the bed to deal with later.

“God, you live like a college frat boy.” Norman laughed, shaking his head. “I meant fill them with my stuff, dumbass.”

"I didn't go to college," Blake said, as if that changed anything. "And how am I s'posed to fill them if I don't move things first?"

“I don’t know how there’s even anything in them. It looks like all your clothes are on the floor.” He stepped to the side, looking around the room. It was a mess.

"It's not that bad. I know where everything is," Blake protested. He swatted Norman with a t-shirt for his insolence before chucking it to settle on the mattress with its fellows.

“It is absolutely that bad.” Norman flopped himself down onto the bed, on top of Blake’s pile of clothes, lifting up a large and seemingly worn out hoodie.

Now there were images in Blake's head of Norman wearing Blake's hoodies, and he smiled to himself. He threw another t-shirt at him, and slid the empty drawer shut.

“Yeah, just keep throwing things at me.” Norman teased, laying back on the bed. He didn’t feel like unpacking just yet, not when they’d just gotten back from Washington.

Blake stooped to pick up a few more of Norman's boxes and set them on the edge of the bed. One was labelled 'tshirts' and the other was blank. It only made sense to put the t-shirts into the now vacated t-shirt drawer, so he set that next to the dresser for Norman to deal with later, figuring the nitpicky little shit would prefer to do it himself. He picked up the other box, oblivious to the dawning comprehension and horror on Norman's face, and opened the lid.

Norman shot up off the bed, moving toward Blake. “Blake- Wait- don’t open that one-“ He was too late. The lid was off and Blake was staring into the box, and Norman could feel his face flushing a dark, dark red. He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly, embarrassed, and let out an agitated groan. He didn’t want to see Blake’s reaction.

Blake looked down into the box for a long moment, face impassive. Finally, he looked up at Norman and tipped the box sideways; about half a dozen dildos in varying sizes spilled out onto the mattress, along with a handful of assorted vibrators, a couple cock rings, a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, a ball gag and a bar gag, nipple clamps, and wrist and ankle restraints. 

"So," Blake said, voice rough. His lips twitched, trying not to laugh. "Do I need to ask?"

Norman could hear that Blake was holding back laughter. He rubbed a hand over his face again and groaned, opening his eyes to look over at the bed. “My- my friend gets me a dildo every year for my birthday.” He explained sheepishly.

"The rest of it is all you, then?" Blake asked. He picked up the furry handcuffs, scoffing at them, and dropped them back into the box. The rest of it he didn't touch, but looked at with a rather hungry gaze.

“It’s a private box! Normally in a private drawer!” Norman insisted, his face burning. “You shouldn’t have opened it! And dumped it out!”

"You left it in the middle of my floor with your shirts!" Blake protested. "What was I supposed to think it was?"

"Excuse me for trying to straighten things up," Blake snapped. He sat down on the edge of the bed. A pink dildo rolled a bit as the mattress dipped. "Anyways, which of these is your favorite?"

“How do you know if I even use them?” He looked up at Blake with a huff, saw the way he was looking back at him, and let out a defeated sigh. “The opaque blue one.”

"The biggest," Blake remarked, smirking. "I should've guessed." He crawled towards him across the mattress, laying a hand on Norman's thigh. "Wanna try em out?"

“You’re telling me you think you can control yourself and fuck me with a dildo instead of your own cock?” Norman raised an eyebrow.

"I'm telling you I'd like to find out," Blake said. He tugged Norman's legs apart, pulling him up onto his lap.

“It makes me feel full.” Norman said with a playful little grin. “It also helps that it’s my favorite color.”

"What about the rest of it?" Blake picked up the leather restraints, caressing the material between his fingers. "You like being tied up, Norman?"

“You say that as if you didn’t handcuff me the first time we fucked.” Norman rolled his eyes, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed the nonchalant attitude he was trying to portray.

"That was a hate fuck," Blake said dismissively. "Wasn't sure if you actually liked that until now." He reached out and took Norman's wrists in hand, looping the straps around then and pulling them tight.

“Oh, so we’re doing this right now?” Norman watched him, his cock starting to strain against the fabric of his pants.

"Unless you wanted to wait? You can wait here for me, all tied up and pretty, and I'll go find something else to do." Blake slapped his hip lightly, unable to reach his ass.

“No you won’t.” Norman challenged. He’d be so fucking annoyed if Blake left him like this. “You don’t have enough self control.”

Blake attached Norman's wrists to the bedposts and stood up, smirking down at him. He left the room without a word, heading down the hall to rifle through the hallway closet. He had a box of miscellaneous things in here somewhere, and knew there to be a coil of sinewy cotton rope. He didn't remember where it came from, just that he'd never used it before, and that he'd like to add it to Norman's kit.

“Carter!” Norman hollered. He was not actually about to leave him there, right? “Carter, come on!”

"Oh, calm down!" Blake shouted back. "I'll be right there—" He found the rope and hopped to his feet, dashing back to the bedroom. Blake brandished it so Norman could see before scooting onto the bed.

“Oh, I didn’t have enough in my box to please you?” He teased, grinning at him.

"You didn't have this. It's soft," Blake added helpfully. He leaned down and kissed him while he unraveled the rope. A childhood of Boy Scouts left him well able to tie a knot, and he'd had some experience with tying people up, but Norman... Fuck, he had no idea how he wanted him.

Norman let out a soft hum and kissed him back, eyes fluttering shut. He lifted a leg to loop around Blake’s waist, pulling him closer.

Blake pushed his leg back gently, holding it to the mattress with one hand. He made quick work of his pants and underwear, tossing them to the floor before taking the rope in hand. He tied the rope tight around the bedpost, looping it up his ankle and securing it with a single column tie. He pulled the rope taut up the length of his leg, wrapping it thrice around his thigh and securing with another single column tie before looping back up and around Norman's lower belly, looping once before repeating down his other leg and tying the end of the rope of the other bedpost. An extra foot trailed down the post, and Blake smirked.

Norman squirmed a little, finding he had very limited mobility in this new position. “What’re you gonna do now?” He teased, his cock resting half-hard against his belly.

"Oh, I'm not done," Blake warned him. He fished through Norman's toys, retrieving the silken blindfold he had seen. He tied it around Norman's head, pulling it down over his eyes.

Norman shivered slightly. The silk was soft on his skin, but he couldn’t see anything through it. He squirmed a little more, cock twitching.

"And...." Blake rustled through the objects and selected the ball gag. He gently lifted Norman's head and slipped it into place, strapping it behind his head.

Norman made a soft sound, his mouth opened around the gag, and just like that he could no longer talk back to Blake. He’d never done this before- not to this extent. He hadn’t had a serious boyfriend since college, and he didn’t exactly indulge in much bondage with his flings. But with Blake it felt... safe. It was odd, to feel safe while so vulnerable to a man he’d seen be cruel to others. But it did.

"Just nod or shake your head for yes and no, okay?" Blake murmured. He kissed Norman's cheek since he couldn't reach his lips, and sat back to appreciate the view. Norman's cock was erect and so pretty, he could barely keep his hands off it, but he refrained. He picked up the bottle of lube and the smallest dildo, a little purple thing that must have been made for beginners. There weren't even any fake balls on it. He coated his fingers in the slick substance, pressing the pad of his finger to Norman's hole and sliding it in.

Norman let out a soft whine as he felt Blake’s finger slide into him. He could hear him rustling around with stuff on the bed, and couldn’t help but wonder if he was getting one of the toys.

"I don't think you'll need much prep for this one," Blake said. It was barely thicker than one of his fingers, but long. "What do you think, baby?" With his free hand, he squirted lube onto the toy and coated it.

Norman couldn’t exactly give him a verbal response, so he just made a soft humming sound and nodded. It had to be one of the small ones then.

Blake pulled his finger free and lined the tip of the toy up with Norman's hole. He eased it in slowly, watching the way he stretched to accommodate.

The stretch was only slightly uncomfortable- the toy was rather small after all. It almost felt like not enough. He knew he needed time to adjust to have anything bigger, but he was kind of hoping Blake wouldn’t tease.

Blake slid the toy in slow and deep until the base hit his rim. The thing had to be so deep inside him, but he knew Norman could take more. He moved it gently at first, easing it out and thrusting it back in.

He earned a soft moan in response. Norman wiggles his hips a little, eyes closed behind the blindfold. He was very quickly adjusting to the thin dildo, and he wanted more. He rarely even used the one that Blake was currently fucking him with. It felt good reaching deep inside him, but the stretch wasn’t nearly enough.

"You want more?" Blake murmured. He moved it faster, pulling it out and thrusting it hard all the way.

Norman tried to say yes, but a pathetically muffled sound came out instead. His back arched up as it was thrusted in, just barely grazing his prostate.

Blake slid it free, tossing it to the bed beside Norman. He rifled through the collection and selected the next size up, slicking it up with lube. "Ready?" he asked, knowing full well that he couldn't answer, and he pushed the head inside.

Norman practically purred, feeling the fake cock stretch him open a little more. It still wasn’t as big as he wanted, nor was it exactly what he wanted- he wanted Blake’s cock, he was right fucking there, obviously he wanted the real deal.

"How's this one?" Blake asked, easing it in to the hilt. This one didn't have fake balls either, but a thick suction base that was nice to hold onto. Norman's hips were twitching in their limited mobility, his cock flushed dark and leaking.

Norman moaned as he felt it slide in all the way. He was growing impatient quick. Blake’s cock was bigger, it was hot and thick and Norman wanted that. He wanted Blake’s cum inside him.

Blake stroked his own cock languidly as he fucked Norman on the dildo, watching his limbs quiver in their restraints. Drool was slipping down Norman's lips around the gag. He was fucking gorgeous all strung up like this, all for him.

The gag may have stopped him from talking, but it didn’t stop his little gasps and moans. He squirmed, his back arching and toes curling in pleasure. It felt so good, and his cock was aching to be touched.

"Oh, right.... there?" Blake thrust it hard against Norman's prostate, dragging the toy's head over the spot.

The sound Norman made was pitchy and embarrassing and made his whole face flush red, but it felt so fucking good. His cock twitched, and precome dribbled onto his belly.

"Oh, right there?" Blake did it again, grinning, at the way Norman jerked and squeaked around the gag.

Norman’s hips jerked, his cock twitching again, and he could feel pressure building in the pit of his stomach. Fuck, he was close. If Blake could just touch his cock, just stroke it a few times...

"Come on, baby," Blake purred, eyeing Norman's twitching, leaking cock. So flushed and pretty. He pushed it against his prostate again, not relenting this time, just teasing it slow back and forth over the spot.

Norman barely even had time to process it was going to happen before he came, hard, his cum splattering on his belly and his cock twitching pathetically as he climaxed without even being touched. He couldn’t take it, the constant pressure on his prostate was too much, and if his eyes weren’t closed he was sure he’d be seeing stars. He pulled at his restraints, back arching up off the mattress.

Blake didn't give him a break beyond pulling the toy free. He chucked it aside and snatched the next largest, lubing it quick and pushing the head in to Norman's wet, eager hole.

Norman cried out when the new one was pushed in, sounding even more desperate because of how it was muffled. He felt his rim stretching, the head of the toy hitting against his oversensitive prostate as it was pushed in deeper, making him whimper.

"You like this one? Or you want something bigger?" At this rate, Blake was gonna run out of lube before he'd even gotten his dick in the guy. He worked the dildo in to the base, using the fake balls as a sort of grip. "I've got something else for ya, too..."

Norman was letting out a steady stream of moans, soft huffs and whines as he squirmed and twitched, his cock lying soft in the puddle of cum on his belly.

Blake grabbed the little bullet vibrator, wrapping it by the cord around Norman's soft dick. He clicked the remote on, to the second gentlest setting because he wasn't a monster, and promptly thrust the dildo against his abused prostate.

Norman nearly screamed, hips jerking violently, his limbs tanking against the restraints. It was so much, too much, sensitive and burning and making his cock twitch again so soon after he’d just came. His eyes were rolling back behind his closed lids, his legs trembling and trying in vain to press together.

"C'mon baby, scream for it," Blake coaxed, knowing full well Norman couldn't get the words out. "You want me to fuck you?"

Norman nodded frantically. Fuck, yes. He wanted Blake inside him, fucking him, wanted Blake to fucking cum inside him. He wanted it bad. His body gave a weak little shudder, his cock giving another pathetic twitch.

Blake almost took pity on him. Almost. Instead, he turned the vibrator up a gradual setting higher and moved the dildo faster; it made a slick, disgustingly hot wet sound as it moved inside him, different than the sound of skin on skin.

Norman’s moans grew higher pitched, more desperate and whorish, his face flushed a deep pink and his hips jerking along with each thrust. He wanted Blake, why wasn’t Blake fucking him with his cock? He was teasing, making Norman sweat and thrash and moan as his cock slowly grew hard again.

"How's it feel, baby?" Blake stroked his cock watching Norman and how he writhed helplessly in his restraints. "Think you'll be able to come again after this?"

Norman just shivered pathetically. Whether he thought he could or not, he was sure Blake would make him.

Blake let go of himself, achingly hard as he was, wanting to save it all for when the toys were through. He pulled the dildo free and selected something else, a surprise for Norman who was surely expecting another rubber cock, but it was a vibrator he pressed inside of him and clicked on.

Norman practically howled, his whole body going rigid and then relaxing only slightly. It was so much, his prostate so fucking sensitive, and now there was a constant buzzing not only against it but filling him, overwhelming vibrations filling his whole fucking ass. He tried to say Blake’s name but it just came out as another moan.

Blake was itching to take off that gag so he could hear Norman's pretty little cries, but seeing his face screw up beneath the silken blindfold and the drool slipping down his lips was just as hot. He groaned, forcing the vibrator in deep and holding it against his sweet spot.

Norman’s whole body shuddered, little tremors running through his limbs. He was too fucking sensitive, it was too much, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and soaking into the silk covering them. It was so much, it felt so fucking good he could barely handle it.

This would never get old. Seeing his calm, collected fed reduced to whimpering, shaking mess under his hands. Blake turned the vibration up a notch, thrusting it inside him. He couldn't help it any longer and he grabbed himself, grinding into his own fist in a desperate hunt for friction.

Norman’s cock wasn’t even fully erect yet when he came again, his body shaking almost violently, more cum joining what was already cooling on his belly. He couldn’t take it, the intense sensations, he couldn’t hold back. His prostate was so fucking sensitive.

Blake wasted no time in pulling the vibrator out of him. He left the mini bullet wrapped to his dick, and nudged the head of his cock against Norman's hole. "Ready, baby?"

Every damn inch of him was trembling, and tears were soaking through the blindfold, his breathing labored, but he nodded, feeling a spark of arousal at the realization that it was finally Blake’s cock about to enter him.

Blake pushed in, groaning under his breath. He was already so slick with lubricant, so hot from abuse and orgasms. He put his hands on Norman's spread legs, squeezing the firm muscle under the soft skin as he thrust in slow.

Norman let out a pitiful moan, clenching around Blake’s cock. He was fairly certain Blake planned on making him cum one more time before they were finished. Despite his extreme sensitivity, feeling so fucking pleased that it hurt, the stretch of Blake’s cock was so fucking good.

Blake reached down and fumbled with the bullet vibrator, adjusting it to sit closer to the head of his cock. Norman was clenching around him already, his legs shaking helplessly in the rope binds. He moved slow, more so to drag out the sensation than for Norman to adjust—he was already more than prepared, after all.

Norman was being louder than he even realized, moaning and whimpering and nearly screaming at each slow inward thrust. He wanted to fucking scream Blake’s name, to kiss him and claw at his back as he was fucked.

The noises he was making, stifled as they were, had heat flush in his groin. Blake grunted with the force of his thrust, skin slapping lewdly.

Norman was fucking drooling around the gag, it was dribbling from the corners of his mouth, and his tears were leaking from under the blindfold. He was so overstimulated, so on edge, and fuck it was the best he’d felt in a long time. It was the best fuck he’d had in years, if not the best fuck he’d had ever.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so fucking—" He trailed off in a groan, fucking him harder. He had no patience left to tease, he just wanted to wreck him, to get him off, to cum inside him.

He earned a loud moan in response, Norman’s hips bucking and jerking weakly with each thrust, his cock fighting to get hard again. It fucking aches but it was so fucking good, his cock giving a weak twitch against his belly.

"Think you'll manage another one?" Blake panted. He dipped his head and mouthed at Norman's throat, leaving a mark there to announce 'yup, this is my twink'.

Norman nodded weakly, whimpering and tilting his head to give Blake better access to his throat.

"Good boy," he murmured. He ground against him, cursing under his breath at how hot he was, how tight he still managed to be.

He wanted the gag out. He was biting down on it, clenching his teeth. Fuck, he wanted to fucking cry out Blake’s name.

"When you're close, alright?" Blake hissed, moving just a bit faster. "I'll take it out when you're close. Wanna hear you cum."

Norman nodded frantically, his cock slowly hardening again. He was clenching around Blake, keeping tight around him, his face flushing at the obscenely wet sounds.

Blake really wanted to kiss him. He was so wet and sloppy to fuck, drool slicked all down his lips and chin. He lowered a hand to Norman's cock, stroking him carefully, avoiding dislodging the vibrator.

Norman shuddered and shook his head. It was too much, he was going to have another orgasm right then and there if Blake kept stroking him like that.

"No?" Blake drew his hand back, smirking. "Too much? Alright, baby." He moved his hand to his hip instead, holding him steady as he pounded into him.

Blake couldn’t see it, but Norman’s eyes were rolling back as he was thrusted into. It was overwhelming. His cock was almost fully hard again, and he didn’t know how- he didn’t know if he still even had enough sperm in him to cum again.

"You're close?" Blake asked, watching what he could see of his face. "You're fucking acting like it." He chuckled softly, aiming up for his prostate.

Norman nodded, letting out a muffled ‘yes’.

Blake let his delicious little sounds get louder, pitchier, despite the gag before he reached to unclasp the gag. The ball slipped from his lips, falling to the mattress beside him, and Blake returned his hand to Norman's cock.

“Carter!” Norman gasped the second his mouth was free. “Carter, Carter, please, it’s so much, it’s so fucking much-“

"Want you to cum screaming," he said sharply, pounding against him. He clicked the vibration higher; he was close himself, but no way in hell was he coming before Norman.

“Carter!” He nearly screamed, barely able to take it. “I can’t, I can’t, I’m gonna- I’m gonna cum, please...”

"Good boy, c'mon... Cum for me, Norman," Blake panted.

Norman’s back arched as high off the mattress as it could, his sounds needy and desperate and close to screaming as he came for the third time, clenching impossibly tight around Blake as his own cock twitched pathetically, letting out a few weak spurts of cum.

Blake let out a husky groan, bending his head to give Norman a deep kiss. He was so fucking tight, he managed one more thrust before he was cumming within him.

Norman kissed him as he came, only pulling away to catch his breath, panting softly. His head fell back and he shut his eyes, cheeks a pretty shade of pink. He felt limp, boneless, exhausted.

Blake scooted back, untying Norman and releasing him from his restraints. Finally he pulled the blindfold off, and Norman's eyes were closed. He chuckled. "That good, huh?" he murmured, kissing his cheek. Norman made a sleepy sound, curling against him, and Blake laid on his side and put his arm around him. Norman's face was slack, relaxed... Fucking cutie. Blake's cheeks were hot as he closed his own eyes, somehow more comfortable in the closeness of Norman Jayden than he had with any girl before him.


	16. Chapter 16

The bed was shaking. Blake twitched awake, already irritable, and sat up. No, it wasn't the bed, it was Norman— he was quivering and sweating like he was in the throes of illness, his face twisted and strained in some invisible pain. Blake set a hand on his shoulder and his eyes flicked open, pale and shimmering. 

"You alright?" he asked, completely baffled.

“I-“ Norman started, gaze flirting around the room, eyes bloodshot and pupils dilated. “I just- I’m fine- bathroom...” he moved to get up.

Blake reached out and grabbed his wrist. "You alright?" he asked again. Norman was pale and shaky where he stood and he looked sick as fuck. "...you gonna puke?"

“I- I’m okay, I’m fine.” Norman lied, stumbling as he tried to stay on his feet. Fuck. He hadn’t had tripto in too long. He didn’t remember where he put his coat- he didn’t know where his tripto was. He’d have to fight the withdrawals.

"You're not fine." Blake stood, keeping a hand on him. He took his other hand, holding him steady. "Shit, man, if you're gonna pass out you need to lay down."

Norman shook his head, and he tightly gripped Blake’s hand, not even realizing how tightly he was holding on to it. “Just need a shower.” He insisted.

Blake flinched out of his grip and released him. "Be careful, okay? You're all fuckin shaky." The shower would be slippery, so Blake would have to listen in case Norman fell.

Norman nodded, taking a step toward the door. God, he was about to fall over with ever step he took. “I- do- I need my coat, do you remember where I put it?”

"It's in the kitchen, but where the fuck you think you're going? You don't need your coat to shower." Blake shook his head. He went to give Norman a steadying hand.

“I’m... cold.” Norman bluffed. “I’m just- I’m just gonna go get that.”

"You're cold." Blake grabbed him again. "Turn the hot water up then, dipshit. You don't need a fuckin coat in the shower?"

“I need it, Blake, fuck off.” Norman weakly pulled away. He was going to fucking collapse if he didn’t get his tripto.

"Fuck you need it for?" Blake tailed after him as Norman tottered off to the kitchen, hands held out hesitantly to catch him if he stumbled.

“Don’t need help.” Norman insisted again. “I don’t- ‘m fine.” He grabbed his coat off the table, clutching it tightly to his chest.

"Tell me what's wrong," Blake said, more of an order than a polite question. He blocked Norman's path, scowling.

“Just need a shower. I’m fine. I’m fine.” Norman tried weakly to push past him. He needed his tripto.

"Norman, you're lying to me. Stop it." He grabbed him, tugging the coat from his hands, and as it lurched between grips a handful of coins and a small blue something spilled from one of the pockets.

Norman dropped to his knees when the tripto fell out, fumbling to reach for it and finally grabbing it in his fist.

Blake grabbed his wrist when he staggered to his feet, staring at the blue vial. "What the fuck is that, Jayden?"

Norman shook his head, clutching his fist to his chest to hide it and turning away from Blake. “Nothin’.”

"That's not nothing." Blake yanked him back around, grabbing his fist. "Norman Jayden. Open your fucking hand right now."

Norman shook his head again, more urgently this time, and tried to pull his hand away. “N-no. Leave me alone. I need it.”

Blake ground his teeth and dug his fingers in, prying Norman's fist open until the little blue vial was exposed. He pulled it free, staring at it. "Is this...?"

Norman’s lower lip quivered and he stared at the vial now in Blake’s hand. “I need- give it back, Blake.”

"What is it?" Blake snapped. He squeezed it tight in his fist; the thin glass creaked under his fingers and he wanted to smash it, but god forbid it was something dangerous.

“Please.” Norman begged, staring desperately at the vial, feeling tears begin to well in his eyes. He needed it, he needed it so badly, and Blake was angry and he was going to break it, he was going to ruin it and take it away.

Blake sneered and threw the bottle to the ground, smashing it underfoot. "Yeah, no. Fuck you if you think I'm letting you do this shit in my house."

He fell to the floor, looking at the crushed remains of the vial and the spilt tripto in horror. No. No, no, no, he didn’t know where he’d packed the rest of it, that was the only vial he knew where to find at the moment. He let out a pitiful groan that turned into something like a sob, his twitching hands curling into tight fists. He was going to be sick. His head was spinning. There was something wet beneath his nostril, but his brain wasn’t functioning well enough to realize it was blood.

Blake knelt as well and brushed the powder away until it was too thin to possibly be salvaged. He'd sweep it up later. "What was that, Norman?" With his clean hand, he reached and wiped the bloody smear from his nose.

Norman was visibly trembling, starting to rock back and forth in his position kneeling on the floor. “I- I needed that.” He gasped, closing his eyes to try and stop any tears from falling. He was so desperate, it was pathetic.

Blake shook his head, reaching to pull him up to his feet. "No, you need that shower. We'll talk about that after, okay, but you need a shower to get yourself all refreshed."

“No!” Norman jerked away, stumbling toward the bedroom. “I need it- I need to find- you don’t understand-“ He blabbered, barely coherent, nearly collapsing with each wobbly step. He couldn’t remember the last time his withdrawals had felt this bad. And seeing his tripto right there, right in front of him, and then so cruelly taken away...

Blake went after him, not that Norman had made it too far, and lifted him like a sack of potatoes. He carried him to the bathroom without a word and dumped him in the tub, turning the showerhead on to cold.

Norman didn’t move to get up, instead curling in on himself, curling up into a ball as if it would hide him from the cold water as he let out a pathetic little sob. Everything hurt. Everything was wobbling and spinning and he was shaking. He just needed his tripto, that was all.

The water was chilled, but not bitingly cold. Blake let it pool in his hands and splashed it gently in Norman's face, trying to help clear his head. "You are going to talk to me," he said coolly.

Norman stayed there with his head ducked down, quiet and shivering for a few moments, before looking miserably up at Blake. “You crushed it.” He managed.

"Yeah, man. You don't need to be snorting shit, I don't care what it is." Not that Blake had any clue what that blue shit was.

“I needed it.” He said weakly, but the cold water was beginning to calm his symptoms.

"No you don't. You don't need fuckin drugs, man, you're a fed." Blake squinted at him, scowling.

Norman covered away, ducking his head back down, feeling shame creeping through him. Blake was judging him. Blake was disgusted with him. He wished he was back in Washington, curled up alone in his bed.

"Wanna tell me what it was?" Blake knelt down, taking his hand. "Norman, I can help you. You don't need to be taking that."

Norman snatched his hand away. “No.” Blake couldn’t just go from scowling and angry and cold to being calm and expect him to fall for it.

"No isn't gonna cut it," Blake said, a little less calmly than he'd prefer. He drew in a deep breath and schooled himself. He turned the water off, watching Norman to make sure he didn't try and escape.

Norman didn’t move, shivering and soaked in cold water. He blinked a few times, eyes still red-rimmed and wet, but his head wasn’t spinning anymore. He didn’t respond.

"Norm," Blake said, still just watching, not moving. "Talk to me. I'm serious."

“I don’t want to.” Norman’s voice cracked, shame flooding his gut.

"Yeah? You don't want to? I don't wanna find you fucking dead somewhere cause of that shit!" Blake slammed his fist down on the edge of the tub.

Norman flinched, closing his eyes tight. “It’s tripto. It’s- it’s from the feds.”

"From the feds. They..." He trailed off, trying to make sense of it. "They gave you fucking drugs? Why? What the fuck?"

“ARI.” Norman replied softly. “It’s... it combats the effects of ARI.”

"They give you shit that fucks with you so bad they need to make a special fucking drug to go with it? What the fuck?" To say Blake was baffled would be an understatement. What the actual hell? Whatever happened to not endangering your employees, especially in a high-stakes, highly-regarded position like the fucking FBI.

“Well, they didn’t... they didn’t know. Not at first. I’m one of the only people who’s used it... but ARI started causing hallucinations. Possible brain damage. Tripto balances it out, it helps me focus, it- I don’t think they realized...” He trailed off. He was addicted to it. He didn’t think the FBI realized he’d become a fucking druggy.

"Tell them. Make them fix it, Norman," Blake urged. He leaned forward, hand on Norman's wet leg, since his hands were held away.

“They know. They know what ARI does, and I think they know what tripto does now. They- they made a new ARI. They sent it to me. It doesn’t need tripto. I just... it’s too late, I guess.”

"It's not too late," Blake dismissed. "People get over drug addictions every day, man, we can send you to rehab if you need to go, but it's not too late."

“Too late to undo the brain damage.” Norman let out a humorless laugh and shook his head.

"Look at me," Blake murmured, cupping his face in hand. "I'm real. This is real, right? No hallucinations right now. We can take you to a doctor if you need, but first you gotta stop."

“I can’t just stop. You don’t get it.” Norman insisted, shifting his gaze so he didn’t have to look Blake in the eye.

"You keep saying that, but you won't help me understand." Blake let go of him, giving up for now, but didn't quit watching him. "Just talk to me."

“No doctor would know what to do, or what it is. I don’t need it anymore with the new ARI, but I can’t.. I can’t stop. I can’t go without it. I can’t.”

"You can, and you will. I'll get you through this." He'd call his fucking mother if he had to.

“You won’t like me anymore.” Norman said softly, fear hidden in his quivering tone. It took so long for Blake to like him, and now...

"If that was the case, I wouldn't even be here right now, huh?" Blake snorted an incredulous laugh.

“It’s your house...” He mumbled, cheeks flushing slightly. Blake genuinely didn’t seem angry... at least, not at him. With him, maybe. At the FBI and tripto, maybe.

"No, stupid," Blake said, rolling his eyes. "I wouldn't be in here with you right now. I wouldn't be talking to you about it and tryin to fucking help."

Norman nodded slowly. “Oh. Okay.” He glanced up at Blake, expression soft and sad and still slightly disoriented. He looked like a wet puppy.

Blake sighed. He scooped Norman up and lifted him from the tub, dripping on the floor as he carried him back to the bedroom. He laid him on the bed and pulled blankets up around him, and sat beside him on the mattress. "You gonna talk to me?"

Norman was now sat on wet sheets under wet blankets, which wasn’t really any more comfortable than the tub. He huffed softly. “Do you not have towels?” He avoided the question.

"Fuck," Blake said, now realizing the obvious. "Yeah. Shit, yeah, I'll be back. Don't move, you little shit."

Norman pulled the blanket around him anyway, wet or not, shivering on the bed as he watched Blake leave.

He returned with a bundle of towels. Blake pulled the blankets back and tugged Norman up into a sitting position, wrapping the towels around him snugly. "That better, baby?"

Norman shrugged a little bit. “I guess. Thank you.” He said softly, looking down at his lap.

"Well I can always take them away if it's not better." Blake didn't, of course, but bustled off to get some fresh blankets from the closet. He went to bed wet all the time, he didn't see the problem, but clearly Norman had higher standards for himself.

“It’s okay.” Norman promised, watching as he walked to the closet. He let out a small sigh. He still didn’t feel great, but it was better than feeling absolutely horrible.

Naturally, the blanket he wanted was on the top shelf, so Blake stretched up and tugged it down. It fell gracelessly into his outstretched arms and he threw the blanket out across the bed, thick and plush to keep Norman warm. "How's that? You feeling any better?"

Norman curled up under it, nodding slightly. “Yeah, I guess.” He was still embarrassed and ashamed and uncomfortable. 

Blake got back into bed beside him, looking at him quietly. "You'll be alright," he said, hoping even a shred of comfort could be conveyed. Norman was curled so small, more vulnerable than Blake had ever seen him before. He loathed the sight of it.

Norman cuddled up against him, soaking in his body heat. “You’re not gonna break up with me?” He mumbled, nuzzling his face against Blake’s neck.

"Break up with you? We'd have to be—" They'd have to be dating to break up, Blake was going to say, but he trailed off in realization. Oh. Affection was a soft emotion and Carter Blake was a grumpy old shit who didn't partake in soft emotions, but affection for the man beside him swelled up and Blake wrapped his arms around him tight. "No, Norman, I'm not gonna break up with you."

Now, Norman wasn’t stupid, and he knew that they’d never made it official. But Blake’s reaction was as good as any ‘will you be my boyfriend?’ would ever be, and Norman wasn’t worried that he was just pretending to make him feel better. Hell, the man had even let Norman hold his hand in public the other day. He couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “Okay. Good.”

"I like you, shithead," Blake went on. "So I'm gonna help you with this. I'm not gonna leave you."

“Thank you.” Norman kissed him on the cheek, his own face flushed pink.

"Now try and sleep, alright babe? It's fuckin late." Blake yanked the blankets over their heads, blocking out the already dim light in the room.

“It’s not late.” Norman argued. “And we just woke up from a nap.”

"What, not tired anymore?" Blake pushed the blanket back again, bowing his head to kiss Norman. "Well, whadya wanna do then? Video game? Movie?"

“Sure. Movie sounds good.” Norman agreed, scooting impossibly closer to him.

"Go pick one and I'll make some popcorn, alright?" Blake patted his leg and slid from the bed.

Norman nodded, getting up reluctantly and grabbing a blanket to keep wrapped around him. “Where do you keep them?”

"Shelf in the living room, under the TV," Blake directed. "Regular butter alright or do you like seasonings?"

“Regular.” Norman answered, heading into the living room to check the movies. Blake had a surprising amount of movies that didn’t seem to fit the personality of a buff and tough street cop.

Blake clicked the microwave on and it buzzed quietly, the popcorn bag spinning around slowly. He wandered off, peeking into the living room to see how Norman was doing, and he smiled at the sight of his newly-official boyfriend sat cross-legged on the ground, blanket trailing down his shoulders like a cloak, thoughtfully examining several choices. 

"Whatcha got?" he called.

“Several depressing dog movies, a ton of Disney movies, just things I’d generally expect a preteen girl to have.” Norman listed off.

Blake flushed. "They're for when my sister and her kids come over. I don't watch them."

Norman raised an eyebrow. “Liar.” He accused.

Blake's cheeks went a tad darker. "You can't tell me you don't have a soft spot for Fox and the Hound."

Norman laughed, rolling his eyes. “I’m gonna let you pick the movie instead, I think. It’ll let me inside that head of yours a little more.”

"Alright, go watch the popcorn then," Blake said. He sat down in front of the movie shelf, staring at the options, before selecting Turner and Hooch. Norman liked dogs, as far as he was aware.

“A cop and a dog, huh?” Norman teased when he came back to the room and saw the selection. He placed the popcorn down on the coffee table and sat on the couch.

"It's a classic!" Blake protested, reaching for a kernel to throw at Norman. It bounced off his forehead and fell to the couch.

“Are you gonna sit with me or not, big guy?” Norman picked up the kernel and threw it back.

Blake left the kernel on the floor to its fated end in the vacuum cleaner, and joined Norman on the couch. He sat behind him, looping an arm around his middle and pulling him to lean back against his chest.

“Well...” Norman cuddled up against him. “Let’s start that movie then.”


	17. Chapter 17

Norman was awake and cuddled up in Blake’s arms, reading a book with his boyfriend spooned up against him, when he heard the bedroom door open. He frowned, looking up a little as someone stepped in. An intruder? An intruder that looked kind of similar to Blake? Blake had said something about his sister visiting... and there hadn’t been any sounds to indicate a break-in. 

“Quiet.” Norman demanded, his voice soft so as to not wake Blake. “He’s sleeping.” 

"Who the fuck are you?" she asked, taking in the scene. The stranger was cuddling with her damn brother, in his bed no less, and Carter, that shithead, had never said a word about having a boyfriend. Or being into men at all?

“Norman Jayden? I could ask you the same.” He replied, sliding a bookmark into his book and shutting it, moving it out of the way. “Again. Keep it down. He’s sleeping.”

"Yeah, I see that. He's fine, it's like noon." She made absolutely no attempt to lower her voice, and moved closer to the bed. She looked around. "I'm guessing you cleaned this place up?"

“It was a fucking mess. You still haven’t told me who you are.” Norman huffed.

"Jen. This shithead's sister." She sat down on the edge of the bed, not taking much card in avoiding Carter. "So, Norman, what exactly are you doing in my brother's bed?"

“Your brother is my boyfriend.” Norman said, not moving from where he was, laid down and wrapped in Blake’s arms.

"Uh huh." She raised an eyebrow. "So, think he was ever gonna tell me, or was I just supposed to walk in at some point."

“Well, from what just happened, I’m assuming it’s the latter.” Norman huffed.

"Sounds like him." She scoffed, and swatted Blake on the shoulder. "Wake up, Carter. I'm not here to watch you sleep."

He jerked awake at the blow, giving her a bleary look before looking at Norman, and his eyes softened. "What're you doin here, Jen?"

"Haven't seen you in a while. Wanted to make sure you were alright." She shrugged. "Looks to me like you're more than alright."

Norman turned to face Blake, giving him a peck on the cheek. “What do you say, Carter? Are you doing alright?” 

"Hmm, I think so." Blake sat up, stroking Norman's hair back from his face. "What, you just came to say hi?" he said with disbelief, eyeing his sister. She rolled her eyes. 

"You haven't texted me. You haven't called Mom. She wanted me to come see what you were up to."

Norman sat up as well, leaning against Blake. “We should get dressed.” He looked at Jen. “If he’d told me you were coming today, we’d have been much more prepared.”

Norman sat up as well, leaning against Blake. “We should get dressed.” He looked at Jen. “If he’d told me you were coming today, we’d have been much more prepared.”

"I didn't even know!" Blake protested. Jen barked a laugh and left the room to give them privacy, and Blake shoved Norman playfully. "Quit blaming me, asshole."

“You knew she was coming at some point.” Norman shifted to sit on his lap and face him once his sister was out of the room.

"Not this early though, shit." Blake laid a hand on Norman's hip, looking up at him with an appreciative smirk.

“It’s noon, love.” Norman reminded him, tilting his head and grinning back at him.

"She woke us up," Blake countered. "Without calling. We could have been fucking!"

“But we weren’t. And you should’ve remembered.” Norman cupped Blake’s face in his hands, giving him an amused look.

"I told you, I didn't know she was coming today." Blake sighed, sitting up to give Norman a kiss. "We oughtta get dressed, though."

“Yeah, we should.” Norman kissed him again, before climbing off his lap and the bed and moving to get clothes out of the dresser. “Can I wear one of your hoodies?”

"No, babe, that's illegal. Find your own clothes," Blake drawled sarcastically. He stooped and picked last night's hoodie off the floor, pulling it on over his head.

Norman went to Blake’s drawer anyway, finding an old hoodie and putting it on over his bare chest before changing out of his pajama pants and pulling on a nice pair of jeans. “Call the cops.” He said playfully, repeating what Blake had said a while back after breaking into a suspect’s house.

"I am the cops," Blake retorted, turning to face him. "...The cops say you look too damned good in that, and it's not fair. You're making me want to kiss you."

“Kiss me then.” Norman retorted with a playful grin. The hoodie was cozy and warm and he wasn’t about to take it off.

Needing no further invitation, Blake grabbed him by the collar of the hoodie and dragged him down for a sloppy kiss, licking into his mouth with a sort of quiet urgency.

Norman let out a soft, content sigh as he pulled away. “We can’t get into it right now, old man.” He teased.

"Old man?" Blake echoed. "Fuck you, Jayden!" He shouldered him good-naturedly, heading past him towards the bedroom door.

Norman laughed and followed after him, cheeks flushed pink. “Oh, come on! Don’t be a grump!”

"Fuck you!" he repeated, trying and failing to repress a grin as he pulled the door open. Jen waited on the other side, arms crossed.

Norman’s wide grin turned into more of a polite smile as he saw Jen. “Oh, hi again.”

“Uncle Carter!” A little girl, who appeared to be around seven years old, came racing down the hallway and launched herself at Blake.

"Hey there!" Blake caught her easily, swinging her round and gathering her up into his arms. "Your mommy didn't tell me you were here, too!"

"I'm surprised you didn't hear them," Jen scoffed. A boy of about ten was slinking towards them, timid in the presence of a stranger. He sidled up alongside his mother and stared up at Norman apprehensively.

“Who’s this man?” The little girl pointed at Norman, and the boy continued to stare, awaiting a response. 

“I’m Norman. I’m your Uncle Carter’s...” He trailed off, giving Blake a questioning look.

"Friend," Blake finished awkwardly, not looking at Norman.

"Were you having a sleepover?" Jen asked innocently, a nasty little smirk on her lips. Blake glared daggers at his sister, shifting his neice in his arms.

“I actually live with him, until I find my own place. I just moved here.” Norman informed them. 

“Norman.” The little girl repeated, looking at him curiously. “I’m Makenzie.”

"I'm Hunter," the boy said, drawing away from his mother's side. He looked up at Norman and Blake, then his mother, with jealousy. "Why can't I live with my friends?"

“You’re not an adult.” Mackenzie said wisely. “Uncle Carter is.” 

Norman smiled over at Blake, fondly watching the way he handled his niece. She seemed so happy to be held by him, so excited to see him.

"Barely," Jen said teasingly.

"Yeah bud, you'll be bigger than me in no time." Blake reached out to ruffle Hunter's hair with his free hand. Hunter ducked, shying away.

Norman nodded. “Well, you’re not very tall yourself, Carter. It’s not hard to be bigger than you.”

"Shut up," he snapped, though he couldn't help a small smile.

Jen laughed. "Dad's taller than a tree, I dunno how Carter got to be so little."

“A tragedy.” Norman teased, nudging Blake with his elbow. Makenzie laughed, squirming in Blake’s arms. 

“I bet I’ll be taller than uncle Carter too!” She chimed in.

"So will I!" Hunter interjected, measuring his height against Blake's chest with a massive grin.

"Yeah, you probably will," Blake conceded. 

"Oh—" Jen said suddenly. "What time are you going to mom and dad's tonight?"

"What? Oh." Blake had forgotten all about it, of course. "Six?"

“You’re going to your parents’ tonight?” Norman looked over at Blake, who’s facial expression made it obvious he’d totally forgot. Their personal plans made it obvious he’d forgot. They had a date planned for that night, a real date, and Blake was supposed to take him out to dinner.

"Grammy's been talking about it for weeks," Hunter said helpfully. "She told me that when I grow up, I have to promise to visit her because you never do."

Blake winced. It wasn't necessarily true; his mother was always overdramatic, but he supposed he ought to visit more then once or twice a month. He gave Norman a desperate look, seeking any kind of help he could offer. He really didn't want to bail on their date, but if he didn't go and went out with him instead, his mother would never let him forget it.

“Well, you wouldn’t want to leave her hanging.” Norman said, trying to be reassuring, but he did feel a bit hurt about it. 

“You could bring your friend!” Makenzie suggested.

"If he wants to. Do you want to?" Blake asked, somewhat hopeful. He tried to convey in his pleading gaze that he would make it up to Norman however he wished.

“Sure.” Norman agreed with little hesitation, shrugging. “It can’t be that bad.”

It could, however, be that bad. 

Norman had a sinking feeling the second he stepped into the house and saw Blake’s father, with little hair on his head and a smug expression.

"When you said you were bringing someone, Carter, I was expecting... a better surprise." Mr. Blake's disappointed eyes landed on Norman, and Blake bristled at Norman's side. 

"This is my friend, like I told you on the phone," he said through gritted teeth.

Norman held back his own annoyance and offered a polite smile instead. “I apologize for the disappointment. My name is Norman Jayden. I work with your son.”

“I was expecting a lady friend.” Mrs. Blake walked up beside her husband, her lips pursed

"Don't be too disappointed, Norman's cooler. He's caught two murderers," Blake said, nudging him forward.

"Oh?" Mr. Blake asked, much more intrigued now. "Yeah, I saw you on the news for that Origami case."

“Oh, did you?” Norman’s cheeks flushed slightly. He’d been drugged up for the ‘Let’s Talk Tonight’ interview that Mr. Blake was surely talking about. It was the only way for him to stay calm and keep his composure.

"Who was the other one? The killer you caught," Mr. Blake asked as he brought them inside to sit around the dinner table. Blake pulled up a chair between Norman and his father.

“Charles Moore?” Norman answered, folding his hands neatly in his lap.

"Oh, I read about him," Mr. Blake said. A crease appeared between his eyebrows. "He was the one killing all those fags, right?" 

Blake had a pained look, not looking at his father. He gave Norman a worried side glance.

Norman winced slightly, but quickly covered it up with a neutral expression. “I wouldn’t use that word. They were murdered. Using slurs isn’t how I’d respect their memory.”

"Slurs?" Mr. Blake chuckled, mildly confused. He looked to his wife as though to say 'get a load of this guy!'. "It's just what they are, bud."

“That’s not-“ Norman glanced over at Blake for a quick second and sighed. “Never mind.”

Mrs. Blake gave Norman a suspicious look, tilting her head slightly to the side, but said nothing.

Norman nodded slowly in agreement, glad for the change of subject. “Yes, its a nice change of pace, that’s for certain.”

“Aren’t you with the FBI?” Mrs. Blake spoke up. “Why are you in Philly?”

“Transferred here for work.” Norman replied simply.

"And it's a good thing for us!" Blake said with forced enthusiasm. "Anyways, mom, what's for dinner?" It was a pathetically obvious attempt to detract attention from Norman, but it seemed to work for his father, because Mr. Blake looked up and gave his wife a glowing look. 

"It does smell delicious, honey."

“Roast beef with potatoes.” She explained before standing up. “I’ll grab it from the kitchen. Should I bring out a bottle of wine?”

"Please," Blake said. Though, if the night kept on like this, he would need something stronger. Glancing at Norman, he thought he might need it now.

Norman already looked a bit stressed, though he hid it well, and it made him want to get some tripto. But he was working hard to stay off it. He wasn’t going to relapse just because he had to deal with his boyfriend’s parents. 

Mrs. Blake came back in just a few moments later, wine bottle tucked under her arm and a ceramic dish in her hands that she placed down at the table. “Carter, do you know if your sister is coming soon? I’d hate to start without her.”

"She said she'd be here quarter after." Blake shrugged, tugging his phone out of his pocket to glance at the time. "About five minutes, then."

Mr. Blake was eyeing the roast like he had never seen such an exquisite delicacy before in his life. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

“Vern.” Mrs. Blake scolded. “It’s only a few more minutes. You can wait. I have salad in the kitchen too, if you want to eat something. I made it in case Blake’s friend was a woman.” She casted Norman a disappointing look.

He made a loud, exaggerated scoff. "We've been over this, Kelly. Men aren't meant to eat rabbit food." He eyed the salad with disgust, as though the lettuce had personally offended him

Norman, who had actually wanted the salad, looked awkwardly over at Blake, then at Kelly. “Um. I’d like some actually, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.” Her voice was fake sweet, and she smiled patronizingly at him. “Help yourself.”

Blake reached over and grabbed the bowl for Norman, letting him dish out what he wanted before scooping some onto his own plate. He wasn't the biggest fan of salad, but he would do it out of solidarity for Norman.

Norman shot Blake a grateful look as the parents watched them suspiciously, neither having seen their son eat salad before. Norman awkwardly brought the fork up to his mouth, chewing and swallowing before speaking. “It’s very good. Thank you.”

Vern muttered something to his wife, and gave Norman a depracating look. Blake scowled, stuffing another forkful of bland lettuce into his mouth as the doorbell rang. A moment later, Jen was walking in; she stopped to regard the scene with a look of blatant confusion. 

"Carter, you're eating salad?"

"That's what I was saying," Vern scoffed. 

"How's keto doing for you, Jen?" Blake sneered right back.

Norman quietly chewed his salad, wishing he was not here and involved in the Carter family affairs. 

“She quit that a while ago.” Kelly huffed. 

"Sit down, Jen. How about that roast now, Kelly?" Vern asked impatiently, craning his neck to peer back towards the kitchen. Blake and his sister exchanged a look as she sat down on his opposite side.

“I’ll go get it, Vern, don’t worry.” She smiled at him before turning and walking back into the kitchen, coming out again with the roast and sitting at the table. She placed it on the center. “Who will be saying grace?”

Norman glanced over at Blake, visibly uncomfortable. He didn’t know his family was religious. He wasn’t- at all- and would be at a total loss if he was asked anything about it.

"How about you, Jayden?" Vern asked, rather snidely. Blake looked at Norman, and eyed his father. 

"Have you been harassing him, dad?" Jen sighed, unknowingly coming to the rescue. She went on in a bored tone, plowing through the routine. "Lord, thank You for the food before us, the family and friends beside us and the love between us. Amen."

Norman gave her a grateful look, nodding along. He waited until the others had served themselves before taking a portion for himself, remaining quiet. He was uncomfortable. He wished he was home with Blake. Or at a restaurant with him. Whichever.

Under the table, Blake nudged Norman's leg with his own. The look in his eyes was apologetic, but he said nothing for a moment later Vern was directing his attention to Norman again. 

"So, Jayden. You got a girl?" he asked around a mouthful of beef.

Norman’s face went red real fast. He had a mouthful of food, a normally great excuse to not answer, except Vern talking with a mouthful of food proved that it would not be in this situation. He swallowed quickly, shaking his head. “Um. No, actually.” He mumbled. 

“A handsome young man like you?” Kelly teased, her voice sickly sweet.

"So you're just two single dudes living together?" Jen asked, voice tight with amusement. Vern shoveled potatoes into his mouth, shaking his head brusquely. 

"They ain't worth it half the time, trust me, unless you find yourself a woman like this," he said, jerking his head towards his wife.

“Oh, you.” Kelly giggled, patting him on the shoulder, but the way her eyes were trained on Norman let him know that she had her suspicions. 

“We’re only living together until I find my own place.” Norman defended sheepishly.

"Oh, if that's the case, I know a couple good apartments in the area. My buddy's wife is a realtor," Vern suggested, just a little too innocently. Blake and Jen were both silent, the latter amused while Blake watched with blooming worry.

Norman swallowed thickly. “Oh. That’s... I’ve actually been looking at a few places already, but thank you for the suggestion.” He sent a desperate glance over at Blake.

"We're happy to help anytime," Vern said. "Especially such a good friend of our son's..."

"Dinner's good, thank you mom," Blake interjected, taking advantage of the brief pause.

Norman let out a breath he’d been holding at the change of subject, quickly shoveling another forkful of the roast beef into his mouth. 

“You’re welcome, Carter. I’m glad I at least didn’t disappoint.” She gave him a pointed look, obviously still annoyed that Blake hadn’t brought a girlfriend.

Blake scowled, but it wasn't like he could really snap at his mother. Jen was snickering next to him, the bitch. "I'm an adult, you don't need to harp on me all the time." He was almost fifty, for crying out loud, but his mother sure liked to act like he was a shitfaced teenager.

“Well, I’m just saying, Carter. You’re getting a bit old to still be a bachelor.” She huffed. “At this rate I’ll never have grandchildren from you, will I?”

Norman poked awkwardly at his food with his fork as he chewed, now staring down at his plate.

"No," he said matter-of-factly. It wasn't like he didn't like them, he had just never had a burning need to have children, so not being able to have them wasn't much of a let down for him. "You already have two."

"Oh, but Carter, she wants more," Jen teased. 

"I always hoped you'd have a son," Vern agreed, shaking his head with visible disappointment.

“The neighborhood ladies always ask if you’ve settled down yet.” Kelly added, also visibly disappointed. 

“Is that really their business?” Norman said, awkwardly interrupting. “He doesn’t need to have children. He has a successful career.”

"You're young, you've got time. Carter..." Vern shook his head again, sighing. 

"I don't want them," Blake said firmly. "It's not the end of the world. Eat your dinner." He stabbed at piece of beef with his fork, scowling.

Norman shifted uncomfortably in his seat, focusing on eating, ignoring the glares sent from Kelly to him and Blake both. 

“Not everything is about you, Carter.” She said sharply.

"It's not all about you either, mom," Blake snapped. Jen pursed her lips, resolutely not getting involved.

“This is good food.” Norman interrupted, wanting to change the subject. 

“I deserve grandchildren.” Kelly insisted.

"Listen to your mother, Carter."

"I'm 48 years old, I don't get a say?" Blake said incredulously. He exchanged a look with Norman, and stabbed at the beef. It was dry and tasteless on his tongue as his temper flared.

Norman shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t think it’s anyone’s decision but his-“

Kelly turned to shoot a glare at Norman. “You shut up. This doesn’t involve you, this is between my family and I, not the man squatting at my son’s house.”

"I would prefer you didn't speak to my boyfriend like that," Blake said quietly. The ensuing silence fell thick and heavy.

Kelly stared at him in disbelief for a moment before speaking, voice hushed and full of anger. “Your what, Carter?”

Norman shot a worried glance at him and reached under the table to grab his hand.

"My boyfriend," Blake repeated. "You won't talk to him like that." 

"What're you trying to say, Carter?" Vern leaned over the table, meaty fists on either side of his plate. Jen's eyes glittered eagerly in the face of new drama.

Norman looked down, staring at his plate and trying to ignore the sick twisting in his stomach. 

“You’re... gay?” Kelly questioned, disgust heavy in her tone. She looked briefly at Norman. “No you’re not. He might be, he may be corrupting you, but you are not a... a homosexual.”

"Did I say I was gay?" Blake snapped. "I have a boyfriend, I'm not—"

"No son of mine—" Vern began, voice thunderous. 

"Oh, shut up!" Jen said, exasperated. "He's bisexual, who fucking cares? Get over it. I don't want to listen to you guys argue."

Norman flinched slightly at the raised voices, squeezing Blake’s hand and giving him a slightly panicked look. 

“You are dating a man.” Kelly hissed. “Is this some sort of revenge?”

"Revenge for what?" Blake glanced over at Norman, nodding slightly. He was more than ready to leave, by the look of it, and by now so was Blake.

“For us wanting you to be a normal man, settle down, and have a child?” Her nostrils flared, face reddening. “I can’t believe you, Carter.”

"Fuck being happy though, right?" He stood up, banging his chair back. He tugged Norman's hand so he stood up as well. Jen raised her eyebrows, watching but keeping her mouth shut. 

"Carter, you sit back down right now!" Vern roared.

Norman flinched slightly and squeezed his hand tighter. He didn’t want to interfere, but... “He’s a grown fucking man.” He finally snapped, voice tight and angry. 

“He is our son, and you are some homosexual he brought into our home!” Kelly turned on Norman, her voice resembling a screech.

"Norm, come on, we're leaving." Blake dragged him along out of the dining area down the hall. Vern was shouting after them, demanding him to come back, accompanied by Kelly's screeching protests. Once the door had slammed behind them and they stood on the sidewalk outside, Blake took Norman's other hand in his. "You alright?"

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” Norman looked at him, worried, stress causing creases on his face as his brows furrowed and the corners of his lips curved down into a frown.

"Just pissed. I'm more worried about this," he said, indicating Norman's shaking hands. They'd flushed the tripto, but Norman still suffered withdrawals. Especially after extreme stress.

“I’m fine.” He repeated, looking Blake in the eyes. “Carter, I’m fine. I promise. Let me worry about you for once, okay?”

"They've always been like that," he said dismissively. He couldn't pretend it didn't sting, but he was a grown man. He could handle it. "This should get her off my back about kids, at least."

“I’m sorry. If they cut you off, or they hate you, because of me...” Norman trailed off. “It’s... I’m sorry. Do you want to go get dinner somewhere else? Your choice, I’ll pay?”

"Let's go someplace nice," Blake said. "To make up for tonight." He opened Norman's car door for him, sliding in behind the wheel once he was secure.

Norman nodded, and the ride was almost silent. But there wasn’t tension between them, it was a comfortable silence, even after everything that had just happened. 

In this silence, Norman came to the comfortable conclusion that he loved Carter Blake. 

He almost revoked his mental admission of love when they pulled into a Chili’s parking lot, and he learned what Blake’s idea of someplace nice was. He snorted, looking over at Blake and his questioning expression, and answered before he could even ask the reason. 

“Nothing, Carter.” He said, unable to wipe the grin from his face. “It’s nothing.” 

For the first time since college, he was in love.


End file.
